Eternal Memories
by Silwyna
Summary: Something's wrong with Sam’s visions, a building collapses and something evil lurks in the dark – the Winchesters have their hands full once again. Takes place after Dead Man’s Blood.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I'm in no way related to the TV show Supernatural. It's characters (sadly) do not belong to me. I'm not making any profit with this story.**

**A.N.: A huge thank you to Youngest Ones Rule and Kaz2y567i for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. This story is sort of a continuation to my other story "Forgive us our sins", but you don't need to have read that one to read this story. **

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**Eternal Memories**

By Silwyna

"_It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family. So…we go after this damn thing - together." __John Winchester._

**Prologue**

**France, 1244**

Proudly the castle stood on the mountain, looking down at what was going on right outside its walls.

The air was still fresh and cold this early in the morning; Mathieu Lavie wrapped his arms around his waist as he tried to stay warm. His breath escaped his mouth in small, white clouds. With a smile he considered that in a few minutes he wouldn't have to worry about the cold anymore.

Hastening his steps, he walked across the meadow at the foot of the Castle, straight towards his second in command, Jules Nemours, who oversaw the preparations for the day's events.

"Good Morning, Jules. Everything ready?"

"Yes. Uhm, Mathieu …" Hesitantly, Jules looked at his long time friend. "Is this right?"

Mathieu tried hard not to roll his eyes. This was so like his friend, doubting what had to be done. "We're doing God's will, Jules. We're saving these people."

"Saving them? By this?" Jules pointed at the pyres that covered a huge part of the meadow.

Jules smiled. "We gave them a choice. They refused. What is happening now is out of our hands."

"There are so many. By God, some of them are children, Mathieu! How can this be what He wants?"

"They have to pay for their sins. Let's begin; I don't want to waste all day with this. We still have a lot to do."

"Mathieu, at least the children … let them go, I beg you." Jules pleaded, grabbing his friend at the arm.

Shooting a disgusted glare at him, Mathieu pulled free of him and turned to his soldiers that stood in front of the pyres. His eyes shortly went over the over two hundred men, women and children tied to the stakes.

"Heretics." He spat out.

"Don't do this." Again, Jules grabbed his arm and whirled him around.

Mathieu was about to shout at his friend to let him go, when his eyes fell on Jules' face. It looked like his friend's and yet … Mathieu felt as if he stared into the eyes of a stranger.

"This is not God's will." Jules spoke in a voice that had nothing in common with the voice Mathieu had listened to for years.

It was as if a complete different person was standing in front of him … and yet, Jules still looked the same.

"Stop it, Jules. It's too late. The Pope ordered the death of all heretics who won't swear on the bible. These people …"

"This is not God's will." Jules repeated.

His tone sent shivers down Mathieu's spine.

"You're saying the Pope is wrong?" He asked defiantly. "You want to go against _his_ orders?"

"I'm telling you to let these people go. That is _God's _order."

"You're talking to God now?" Mathieu huffed.

Jules stared at him intently. "You have to let them go."

"I thought I knew you." Mathieu shook his head in disappointment. His friend had completely lost it. "Go home, Jules. There's nothing for you to do here anymore." He turned back to the soldiers who stood ready to fulfill his orders. "Kill them. Kill them all!" He shouted. "Light the fires!"

One after the other, his men held their torches against the pyres. It didn't take long until the first flames touched their victims' skin; after a few minutes, the morning air was filled with screams and the scent of burned flesh.

In less than half an hour it was all over.

Mathieu walked back into the castle to pack his things when he saw Jules again. He still looked as strange as before. Cold eyes stared back at him from his friend's face.

"They will never be forgotten." He said in that same strange tone. Then the look in his eyes changed and Mathieu recognized his old friend in them again. "Mathieu?" Jules asked confusion.

"Go home, Jules." Mathieu said coldly. "I don't need you any longer."

"I don't understand, what …"

A woman's cry drowned out the rest of his words. Mathieu quickly walked around a corner where he saw a woman sitting on the ground. Tears were running down her face and in her arms she held a baby – it wasn't breathing. Next to her sat a young girl, maybe six, seven years old; she looked starving.

More screams echoed through the halls – screams of men and women, crying out in pain. He heard people shouting, giving orders – orders as if the castle was under attack.

"What is going on here?" He demanded to know.

"What do you mean?" Jules asked.

"Who is attacking us? I thought we got all the heretics?" Mathieu cursed under his breath, at the same time pulling out his sword and hurrying back toward the exit.

"No one is attacking us. What are you talking about? Mathieu? Mathieu?!" Jules called after him.

Mathieu ran out of the castle; his heart skipped a beat when he saw a man fall from the wall, hitting the ground right in front of him.

"What is going on here?" He screamed. "I want to …" His breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on the meadow.

The pyres were burning again, the heretics' screams once again filling the air.

"No. No, that's impossible." He mumbled. "They were already dead. They were all dead!"

"Mathieu?" Jules' worried voice came from behind him.

Slowly, Mathieu turned to him; he was hardly aware of the tremors that shook his body. "Why are they burning again?" He asked hoarsely. "How can they still be alive?"

Confused, Jules shook his head. "The fires are all out." His face hardened. "They're all dead."

"No, no, don't you see? DON'T YOU SEE IT?" Mathieu screamed. He didn't wait for Jules to reply; instead he ran back inside the castle as if the devil himself were after him.

As soon as he stepped in, he once again heard the woman's cry. He stepped around the corner and there she was, holding her dead baby, her daughter sitting beside her. It was the exact same scene as previously. He kept running until he reached a room, filled with people – injured people. His eyes fell on a man, lying on the bed in the middle of the room. A woman was standing over him, talking to him quietly. One moment he looked at her, then his eyes went blank – he was dead. Horrified, Mathieu watched the woman closing the man's eyes. Then he saw her – the _same_ woman! – standing next to several other beds, repeating the same action – talking quietly to the injured, then closing their eyes when they had died.

No matter where he looked, in every corner of the room, he saw a man, woman, a _child_ dying. Not able to take it anymore, he stumbled backwards. He needed to get out. The castle was cursed! He ran back to the exit when he heard it again – the woman's cry. A moment later he saw her, sitting on the ground, crying, her dead baby in her arms, her daughter next to her. Just like before. _Exactly _like before!

He stumbled out of the castle, onto the meadow – where once again the pyres were burning and the people were screaming.

"No!" He screamed. He fell on his knees, tearing his hair. "NOOOO!"

**Chapter 1**

Dean quietly hummed to Led Zeppelin as his concentration tuned in to the traffic, the rain that hadn't seemed to stop for the last couple of days and his father's truck in front of them.

He still couldn't quite believe John Winchester was driving before him; half of the time he was expecting to wake up and discover all this was just a dream. For almost a year he and Sam had been looking for their father, had left over a hundred unanswered messages on his voicemail and then, after a short reunion with him in Chicago, had been forced to part with him again.

Yet here he was - right in front of them. John Winchester in plain sight. And it wasn't a dream. Their father wasn't going to leave this time. They would finish – _together_ – what he had started 23 years ago. They would kill the son of a bitch that had taken their mother. They had the Colt to do it and Caleb had called to tell them he had information about a demon killing knife - which was why they were on the road despite the heavy rain that had already flooded half the state. The hunter had refused to talk about his new find over the phone.

One more weapon to kill this yellow-eyed bastard and once he was dead, it would be over once and for all - and they would be together again like before.

They would be a family again.

Things would be good. Sam might decide to return to school – which by now Dean almost hoped he would do because it was _normal_ and Sam wanted normal. Sam deserved normal! Normal meant Sam was happy and when Sam was happy, so was Dean. It had taken him over three years to realize that, but he understood it now. Sam might return to school, but that was okay. Because Dean still had Dad and they would hunt together and between hunts, they could go and meet up with Sam whenever they wanted to.

Things would be good again.

And it was about damn time for that!

Dean glanced over to his brother with a warm smile. Right now was almost as good as he could ever wish for.

Sam was busy checking his emails from the last few days. His thoughts were far away from hunting, demons and what had been before and what might be after. Since hooking up with their Dad again, they had been too busy to socialize with old acquaintances. Not that Dean had any old acquaintances to socialize with. He left that part of life to his younger brother. Sam liked socializing. Dean … he was happy having his family around. He didn't need anyone else, except maybe a nice woman or two every now and then.

Yeah, things were good again.

"Damn." Sam cursed quietly.

Dean sighed. Of course it couldn't all be good. Not in his family. "What's wrong?" He asked. "Don't tell me one of your friends is framed for murder again. One time was enough. I can only die so many times." He grinned.

"Funny." Sam smirked. "No, it's nothing like that. Don't worry."

Dean frowned. "But you said _damn _and you never say _damn_ unless something real … damn worthy happens."

"You just used the same curse word three times in one sentence. That has to be some kind of new personal record." Sam mocked him.

Dean held up his forefinger and waved it at Sam. "Uhuh. You don't get away that easily. What's up?"

"It wouldn't interest you, Dean."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"Try me."

With a sigh, Sam gave in. "Fine. Stanford just got obliterated."

Dean looked at his brother with wide eyes. "Come again?"

Apocalyptic images of Stanford University and Sam's former apartment lying in ashes with Palo Alto having vanished completely from the surface of earth raced through his mind.

"They lost to Arizona 38 to 3. They didn't even score one touchdown." Sam sighed. "That must have been one of the worst games ever, and I just lost ten bucks."

Dean stared at him incredulously. "Dude, you're talking about sports?"

"College Football, yeah." Sam shrugged. "Back when … you know … we always betted on the games. Well, Jade and I kinda took it up again after Carlton City. She always bets on the opposing teams." He added, rolling his eyes.

"Football. You bet on football games?" Dean was torn between whether to strangle his little brother or be glad that Stanford hadn't in fact been destroyed by … well, by whatever would destroy a whole town. He eventually settled for an incredulous glare directed at his brother.

"Just the Stanford ones and it's not like we bet a lot of money." Sam replied, oblivious to what was going on in his brother's mind.

Dean thought it was best to keep it that way. "And you lost?" He shook his head. "I'm disappointed, Sammy. I thought I taught you better. Never take on a bet if you're not 100 percent sure of the outcome."

"You can never be 100 percent sure of the outcome. It's just impossible. And you never taught me anything about betting." Sam pointed out.

"You grew up right next to me. What more … damn!"

Dean slammed on the brakes and forced the steering wheel into a sharp turn, at the last moment avoiding a giant sinkhole that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the road and had already swallowed their father's truck.

With screech of tires Dean steered the car to the other side of the road and came to a complete stop.

"What the hell!" He yelled, punching the steering wheel hard. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

He looked to Sam, to find that he too was just as stunned, eyes front, chest heaving. Dean gave him a once over with his eyes; seeing that he wasn't injured he turned his gaze to the roadside, looking for their father.

The back of their father's truck was the only part visible.

"What the hell …"

"The street just caved in." Sam said, still staring incredulous at the hole in the middle of the road.

"Oh really? Good to have a genius in the family." Dean hissed. Then his eyes fell on his father as he scrambled out of the hole. Except for a bleeding laceration on his left brow he didn't seemed to be further injured. "Oh man, Dad is going to be pissed."

The brothers watched their father as he climbed out of the hole and stared at it in disbelief. It only took a moment before he started giving the truck's tailgate a few hard punches.

"You think?" Sam sighed.

The brothers shared a look, before they slowly climbed out of the Impala.

"You okay, Dad?" Dean called to their father.

John Winchester turned around and gave his sons an exasperated look. "You hurt?" He asked instead of giving an answer.

"We're fine." Sam replied.

Dean nodded affirmatively. "All good." He gave his father the thumb's up.

"The freaking street just caved in!" John cursed, giving his truck another punch with the palm of his hands.

"The rain must have weakened the foundation." Sam said quietly.

John grumbled something incomprehensible and both boys decided it was better to not say anything more on the subject.

"We gotta take the Impala. I don't think the truck is going to drive anywhere right now." John growled, looking ruefully at his beloved truck.

"There's a town about half an hour from here. We could tow the truck there. Could the Impala do it?"

"Tow the truck?" Dean stared affronted at his brother. "No way, forget it. Do you have any idea what this could do to the transmission? Or the differential? I'm not gonna risk my car."

He went back to the Impala and started rummaging through the glove box. After a moment, he triumphantly held up an Automobile Association Card. „David Goodale from Tipton, Indiana, is going to help us with that little problem.

Sam looked doubtful at the card. "It won't work if he's declared it stolen by now. We've had that like forever."

Dean looked smugly at his brother. „THAT, little brother, is the beauty of this card. The guy threw out his second card. He doesn't know it's stolen."

"What if he's canceled it since then? This card is expired."

"Have a little faith, Sammy. We'll say the new card is at home. We forgot to change this out." Dean waved off the argument. "Just take the card and make the call."

"Why do I have to make the call? You _found_ the card."

"You're the trustworthy one in this family, Sammy boy. Here." Dean threw the card at his brother and turned away to join his father checking out the damage to the truck.

With a defeated sigh, Sam pulled out his phone and made the call.

Finding a towing service proved more difficult than expected though, even with AAA's help. After ten minutes, Sam ended the call with the last garage in the surrounding area with an exasperated sigh. "We better start repacking your weapons, Dad. There seems to be some kind of major traffic jam a few miles from here and no one is willing to come."

"You've got to be kidding me." Dean groaned.

"Well …" John sighed and looked thoughtfully at the Impala.

"We're not using my car." Dean said quickly.

Sam rolled his eyes and for a moment it seemed John was going to do the same. He held back though, shrugged and opened the truck's bed. "Let's start reloading. I want to be in town before night. Maybe we can borrow a tow truck and tow the truck into town ourselves."

They stowed John's weapons in the Impala, careful not to let any of the other drivers who were slowly driving by see what they were doing. John's truck was well stocked and not all of its weaponry fit into the Impala's trunk. Some of it they had to place on the backseat, hidden under blankets.

It took them close to half an hour, but eventually they were back on the road again. Sam had claimed his seat on the passenger seat, forcing their father to climb on the backseat. Except for a raised brow, John had surprisingly said nothing against this.

---SPN---

"This is nice, huh?" Dean stated grinning about an hour after they had hit the road again. "All three of us in one car again."

His words were met with a cold silence.

"Come on, it's not that bad." He tried to break the quiet.

"Dean, we haven't moved at all in the last half hour." Sam groaned. He was no longer surprised that no towing service had been willing to help them out.

"It's a little traffic jam, not a big deal." Dean shrugged.

"A little?" John growled from the back seat, eyebrow raised.

"Well, it can't go on forever, right?" Dean said.

John and Sam stayed silent. Dean tried to see the bright side - at least they were agreeing on the matter. Things were still good.

In the rearview mirror he saw a motorcycle drive by the stationary cars, quickly coming closer. Sighing, he patted the Impala's wheel. A motorcycle would get them through this jam in no time. But leaving the Impala behind? The world would have to go down before he'd trade his baby for two wheels, much less anything else.

He had just finished the thought, when Sam suddenly jumped up in his seat.

"Whoa!" He cried out, scrambling back from the window and staring at the meadow at the side of the road with wide eyes.

"Sam?"

"What's wrong?" John asked from behind.

"That … there's … don't you see?" Sam stuttered, still staring out of the window.

Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to see what had his brother so freaked out. "I see nothing. Sam, what …"

"Holy shit!" Sam jerked away from the window even more, his hands going up to protect his face.

"What is it?" Dean asked, panic in his voice at not being able to see what Sam was seeing and yet trying to protect him from it. He wrapped an arm around Sam in an attempt to calm him, continuously staring out the window, trying to see what had made his brother freak out like this.

John had his gun out and the window wound down, ready to take out anything that might threaten his sons. He couldn't see anything either - just an empty meadow with only a few trees on it.

"Sam, calm down!" He barked.

The words had just left his mouth, when Sam suddenly cried out in pain and clapped his hands over his head, knuckles pressed tightly against his temples. His eyes closed and he doubled over in pain.

"Shit, not now." Dean cursed under his breath.

"What's wrong?" John called out worriedly. He leaned forward, one hand on Sam's back, the other still firmly wrapped around his gun.

"Sam?" Carefully, Dean turned Sam around, away from the window, until he could face him. "Just breathe, Sammy, it'll be okay." He spoke soothingly, his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Sam, you hear me?"

"What's wrong with him?" John demanded, wanting, _needing_ to know.

"Not now, Dad." Dean snapped; his eyes fixed on his brother. "Sam?"

"Dean?" Sam's whispered voice sounded hoarse, almost inaudible. He was breathing heavily as he tried to bring his trembling body back under control.

Dean hated that this voice sounded so familiar to him by now. "It's okay, Sammy. It's over." He repeated as he gently stroked Sam's back, willing himself to stay calm, to not freak out no matter how much he wished he could.

This wasn't normal. Sam didn't look normal. This vision didn't look normal. And just thinking about it was a whole new matter of freaking out worthy, because since when was watching your brother having a _vision_ normal? Apart from the clutching the head part though, this didn't look like a vision. Sam's eyes weren't glazed over like he wasn't there. His eyes looked like … like they were seeing, _really_ seeing. And Dean caught himself searching the meadow again for anything that might have given Sam such a scare. From the way Sam was looking, there _had _to have been something.

"What did you see?" He eventually asked, practically forcing the words out while being proud of himself for sounding _not freaked out!_

"I … I'm not sure." Sam looked helplessly at his brother.

Dean swallowed. "The demon? Did you see the demon? Or some weirdo death? Another knife throwing freak? What was it?" Dean inhaled deeply, forcing himself to shut up. His ramblings didn't help anyone.

"What are you talking about?" John asked, shocked at what he was hearing.

Dean held up his hand for him to wait. "Sam?"

The youngest Winchester shook his head, his eyes going out over the meadow again. "No, I … I don't think so. I … It was here."

"Here? The demon was here?" Dean asked, his eyes following Sam's.

"No. There was no demon." Sam sighed impatiently. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Like Sam, Dean inhaled deeply before he went on in a calmer voice. "What did you see?"

"I think … it looked like some kind of … battle."

"A battle?" Dean asked surprised.

"Yeah … and … it looked like … " Sam looked hesitantly at his brother.

"Like what?" Dean urged him to go on.

"Like Cowboys and Indians."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.: A huge thank you to ****Youngest Ones Rule and Kaz2y567i for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you to you all for reading and reviewing! **

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**Chapter 2**

"Cowboys and Indians?" Dean stared at Sam with wide eyes.

Sam squirmed uncomfortably under his family's scrutiny. His eyes darted out to the meadow again which now lay empty before him. "Um … yeah."

"Could someone please tell me what just happened?" John asked impatiently from the backseat.

"I …" Sam exchanged a look with his brother. How the hell was he supposed to explain the visions to his father? To make matters worse, he wasn't even sure he'd just had a vision. It had felt ... different. The pain had been as intense as usual – the only difference was it had come after the vision, not before. "I sometimes …" He stopped. He really didn't know how he should say this. What would his father think? What would he _do_?

"He has visions." Dean finished for him.

Sam held his breath, waiting anxiously for his father's reaction.

"Visions?" John hissed.

"I'll explain later. Sam …" Dean tried to find the right words. "Cowboys and Indians?"

"I don't know. That's what it looked like." Sam replied hoarsely. "There were horses, guns, arrows, fighting … lots of fighting… and bodies. The whole meadow was plastered with bodies and blood and smoke." Sam shivered at the memory. "One cowboy rode directly at us, shooting. That's when the pain hit."

"But that doesn't make any sense. Why would you have a vision about something that happened two hundred years ago? It's not like we can go back in time and stop a war." Dean said exasperate. "You've never had visions about the past."

"I know it sounds crazy, Dean. But that's what I saw." Sam replied. He flinched when another wave of pain hit his head and pressed a palm against his forehead. "Damn."

"Yeah." Dean exchanged a short glance with his father who still stared at his sons with something between impatience, anger and horror. He shrugged apologetically and reached behind for his bag, taking out some aspirin and a bottle of water. Without a word, he handed both to his brother who gave him a grateful smile.

John watched the exchange with a raised brow.

"We've got a routine." Dean shrugged.

"So I see." John looked thoughtfully at his sons. "We should be in town soon. We'll find a motel and get some rest. Then we talk more about this."

It wasn't like John to wait and _get some rest_, but Dean figured he wanted to think about what he'd just learned before he started his interrogation. He really didn't look forward to it.

"Sounds good." He nodded, relieved that at least his father wasn't pushing the matter for now.

Sam looked like he'd prefer the ground open up and swallow him. Dean gave his leg a short pat, casting him the '_everything will be okay'_ look. Sam wanted nothing more than to believe him.

---SPN---

Two hours later they reached the town that was supposed to be a half an hour away from where they had left the truck in a huge hole in the middle of the road. Dean parked the Impala in front of the Marillin Inn, a four story building and the only hotel in town that wasn't fully booked, or so they hoped. Apparently there was a car fair in town which explained the high amount of traffic. Well, that and the two roads closed due to flooding in the area. The fair was also responsible for the lack of vacancy at the last four hotels they had stopped at.

"You know, I think this heavy rain and your weirdo past-tense vision actually did us a favor." Dean grinned. "I'm so going to take a look at all the cars later. Have you seen the posters? They have a full section with classics." He puffed. "Course, my baby could give any of them a run for their money."

"Have _you _seen the notes on the posters? The fair's closed." Sam said. "Half of the car show is gone. There's a huge hole in the middle of the fairgrounds." The last part they had heard on the radio. The highway's foundation hadn't been the only one which had been weakened.

Dean rolled his eyes. "So? I can still look at the other half."

"Which probably isn't any safer than the half that _sunk in_!" Sam countered. "It isn't exactly a safe place to go."

"When did we ever do safe?" Dean grinned.

Sam shook his head and refrained from replying. The fair was closed, plus they would leave first thing in the morning – assuming they had the truck back then and the roads were at least partially trafficable again – and their Dad wasn't going to let Dean go until they had discussed this whole vision thing to death. They had enough on their plate.

The mere thought of that conversation made him want to throw up.

"There he is." Dean pointed to the hotel's entrance where John had just come out. "And he's carrying a key. We have a room." He added happily.

"Great." Sam breathed out relieved. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. His head had stopped pounding, but he still felt drained. Yawning, he followed his brother out of the Impala.

When he'd reached his sons, John tossed Sam the room key, giving him a stern look. "Ten minutes, your room - I want to know everything." He took his bag out of the car and with striding steps went inside the hotel.

"Yes, Sir." Sam sighed. _So much for sleeping._ Apparently, having been stuck in a traffic jam for that long had made his father's patience run thin. Not that he was a very patient man to begin with.

"Don't worry." Dean handed him his duffel bag. "It won't be that bad."

"Not bad? I have _death visions_! And Dad just found out by accident. It's going to be brutal." Sam replied gloomy.

Dean waved him off. "It's not like you asked for them. And there wasn't anything we could have done about them either, so what is he supposed to say?" His face lit up when he saw a familiar motorcycle parking in front of the hotel as well. "Hey look."

"What?" Sam followed his line of sight, frowning when he saw the bike. "Since when are you interested in motorcycles?"

"I'm not interested in motorcycles. I just noticed it earlier. That guy probably arrived here hours ago."

"You want to trade the Impala for a motorcycle now?" Sam teased him. "Were would you keep the weapons?"

"What? No! Hell, Sam, don't ever say something like this in front of her." Dean turned back to his car and gently patted the hood. "Don't worry baby, I'll never trade you for anything."

He turned back to Sam when he heard his brother laughing quietly.

"You're insane, you know that, right?" Sam grinned.

"It's called being loyal. Look it up." Dean countered. A satisfied grin spread over his face when he followed his brother inside the hotel to their room. He mentally congratulated himself. He was an expert in distracting his brother from thinking too much about their Dad, if only for a few minutes.

His grin faded quickly when as soon as Sam stepped into their room on the second floor he flinched back.

"Shit!" Sam cried out and stumbled backwards, right into Dean, making them both end up on the ground.

"Sam, what the hell!" Dean cursed, pushing his brother off of him and picking himself up from the floor.

Sam kept sitting on the ground, staring wide eyed into their hotel room.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, worry replacing the anger within moments.

"Don't you see it?" Sam choked out.

"See what?" And then it dawned on Dean. "Oh no, not again."

Sam slowly got up from the floor and carefully entered the room, staring at the walls as if they were covered in blood.

"They're not covered in blood too, are they?" Dean asked, voicing his thoughts.

"What?"

"The walls, are they covered in blood?"

"You can see that?" Sam exclaimed.

Dean hated the hopeful look in his brother's eyes. Actually, he hated crushing that hope. "No, I just took a wild guess. The way you were staring at the walls …"

"Oh …"

"So there's blood?"

Sam nodded slowly. "It's everywhere." He croaked, staring at the walls with wide eyes. He turned slowly, taking everything in, absorbing it like he used to do when reading a book. He stopped abruptly when he faced the bed.

"Sam." Dean said but before he could continue Sam cried out and his hands went for his head.

Dean was at his side just in time to stop his brother from hitting the floor full on when his legs gave out.

"Sam!" Dean said again, cradling his brother in his arms.

Sam moaned in pain as his whole body went rigid. His hands were pressed tightly against his head which tossed restlessly back and forth. Dean held him like he always did, willing the pain to stop, praying for Sam to come out of this okay. At the same time he could feel the panic return. Because this was wrong, it was all wrong. It should be pain first and then the vision. Sam wasn't supposed to see blood on the walls _before_ the pain hit him.

Sam was doing it wrong and Dean wanted to call him up on it, tell him to stop, to do it right. He wanted to scream out that he still hadn't figured out how to not _freak out_ with a normal vision (_normal!)_ and that Sam had no right to just change things like that before Dean had had time to get used to how they were before.

Dean wanted to call for their Dad, for him to come and make it right, but their Dad knew less about this than Dean did, hell, he had just witnessed Sam having a vision (and a wrong one at that) for the first time two hours ago and he knew nothing about this. How was their Dad supposed to fix this?

How was Dean supposed to fix this if their Dad couldn't?

"Dean?"

Sam's pain filled voice brought Dean back to the present. "It's okay, just breathe through it." He said quietly and gently stroked Sam's back in a soothing way. "It's okay."

"Damn." Sam breathed out. His eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the light around him.

"Yeah." Dean said. "Is the blood still there?"

Sam looked up and his eyes scanned the room. "No."

Dean breathed out relieved. "Good."

He got up from the floor and picked up their duffel bags. He threw them on one of the two beds and sat down himself.

"You planning to stay down there forever, Sammy?" He said, raking his hand through his hair and congratulating himself for not freaking out during another one of Sam's visions.

Sam looked dumbfounded as if he just now realized he was still sitting on the ground. "Oh ..." He said and got up from the floor as well, taking a seat on the other bed. "This is all wrong, Dean."

"You don't say." Dean sighed. His panic had returned to the normal post vision level and he was able to think about things other than Sam, pain and vision and of course, how _not right it all was! _"What exactly did you see?"

Sam swallowed and let his eyes roam around the room again before he replied. "There was blood on the walls and the floor. And … I think there was a dead woman on the bed."

"You _think_?"

Sam shrugged hesitantly. "I only saw her for a second."

Dean thought about it and then suddenly jumped up. "Wait, on the bed? This bed?"

Sam tilted his head and gave his brother an apologetic look.

"Okay, that's it. We're getting another room."

The door opened just in time for John to hear his eldest son's last words. "Cut the crap, Dean. We're not on vacation. This room is as good as any other."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but John held up his hand, effectively silencing him.

"Now, I want to know everything … from the beginning." He said, glaring at his sons sternly.

Sam and Dean exchanged an uncomfortable glance. They both felt like they were children again, and had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Eventually, it was Dean who spoke first. "It started a few months ago." He said quietly. "Nightmares at first and then he started having them when he was awake. There's always a lot of pain involved."

"Just headaches." Sam added.

"Pretty heavy headaches. Hence the whole aspirin routine thing." Dean looked sheepishly at his father.

"What are the visions about?" John inquired.

Sam took a deep breath. "Usually, I see people dying." He swallowed. "And they … they're always connected to me … in a way."

"What way?"

"One was about a guy my age, Max. He … he had special abilities, like me." Sam replied quietly.

"He was nothing like you." Dean cut in harshly. "He was a killer."

"A killer?" John asked.

Dean wasn't sure but he could swear his father had paled. That couldn't be though because John Winchester never paled. Ever!

"He murdered his father and uncle." Sam went on. "We arrived just in time to stop him from killing his mother too. His stepmother, that is." He didn't look at his father or Dean. Too many emotions were involved when it came to that day. It wasn't just the visions or the deaths he hadn't been able to prevent or the fact that there had been someone else out there who was like him, who had lost his mother the same way he had and who was cursed with a gift he had never asked for. It wasn't just that. It was the memory of seeing his brother dying, being shot in the head, and an armoire that moved just because Sam wanted it to. It was the feeling that something was wrong with him.

It was all that and more combined. It made Sam feel sick and nauseous and he wanted nothing more than for it to have never happened.

There was just too much he wanted to have never happened.

"Max was crazy." Dean added. "You're not." He looked at Sam and gave him a quick smile as if reading his thoughts.

"What else?" John asked in a monotone voice.

"Lawrence. I dreamed about our old house in Lawrence."

"There was a Poltergeist terrorizing the new owner." Dean explained. "We called you about that, remember?"

"We did?" Sam asked surprised.

Dean bit his lip. Damn, he had never told Sam about that call he'd made back then. "One of those calls, you know …" He said vaguely.

John stayed quiet for a long moment, lost in his own thoughts. Sam looked miserably at his brother at the prolonged silence and Dean shrugged apologetically. He knew how much talking about this hurt Sam. Hell, he knew how much just _thinking_ about this hurt Sam. It hurt him as much as it freaked Dean out.

Sam never mentioned the hurt part though and Dean would rather die than admit it freaked him out. So they both just waited for their father to keep asking questions.

"And when were you going to tell me about this?" John finally asked, barely hidden anger in his voice.

"We didn't know what it meant." Dean shrugged apologetically.

"And that is exactly why you should have called me." John said angrily. "Something like this starts happening to your brother, you call me!"

"Call you? Dad, we did call you." Dean snapped. He jumped up from the bed and stared angrily at his father. How dare he! After everything!

Both John and Sam looked at him surprised.

"I called you from Lawrence! Or did you never even bother to check your voicemail?" Dean inhaled deeply, the anger, disappointment and fear from the last year finally getting the better of him. He was sick of being the good son. "I called you from Carlton City when Sam was in hospital. Sam called you when I was dying. We called you ALL the time! Getting you on the phone ... I would have gotten a better chance of winning the lottery."

Dean was trembling by the time he finished, shooting an angry glare at his father.

"Dean." Sam said quietly, his hand on Dean's arm.

Dean turned around, meeting his brother's glance. Sam looked at him, his eyes unwavering as he held eye contact with his sibling. For a moment Dean saw a younger Sam with wide eyes who so much resembled the eight year old boy who had worshipped his big brother that it made Dean's heart skip a beat. He exhaled deeply and looked back at his father.

Standing up to John Winchester scared the crap out of him, but if it made Sam look at him like that … maybe it had been worth it.

He had to admit – it had felt damn good to get it all out for once.

The feeling didn't stay for long though. John kept looking at him thoughtfully, not saying a single word. Dean swallowed nervously. Not that he regretted having said what he'd said … he just wished he'd said it a lot more calmly, with less anger in his words. Or maybe not at all. No matter how good it had felt. Or how much Sam worshipped him for it.

You didn't talk to John Winchester like that and get away with it. Dean had learned that lesson a long time ago. Mentally, he prepared himself for the outbreak that would be his father's wrath.

"You're right." John finally said after a long silent pause.

Dean was so stunned, he sagged down on the bed next to his brother. "I am?"

John looked at him with a raised brow. "I'm not real crazy about this new tone of yours, but you're right. I'm sorry."

Sam and Dean looked from their father to each other, neither of them knowing what to say.

"Now, what you saw in the car …" John went on, getting back on the subject. "Your vision …"

"It was different from the others." Sam said. "I … I never saw anything from the past before. It doesn't make any sense."

"And the headache usually comes first." Dean added.

John nodded, but stayed quiet.

"There was another one." Sam said quietly. He shared a quick glance with his brother. "Just now."

"What?" John's head jerked up. "What was it about?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "There was blood. Everywhere. And … a woman. I think she was dead."

"On that bed." Dean pointed at the bed he had claimed as his own.

"I see." John rubbed his hand through his beard, then looked at his eldest with a crooked grin. "And that was enough to spook you, Dean? I'm disappointed."

Dean opened his mouth to object, but John held up his hand and continued.

"There are no more free rooms here. It's just for tonight. You'll survive. Though if it makes you feel better, you could sleep on the floor in my room." He smirked.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"What do you mean, just for tonight?" Sam asked.

John looked at him with a raised brow. "I don't want to let Caleb wait any longer than necessary."

"Yeah, but … my visions. It has to mean something. Maybe it's connected to the demon."

"Or maybe not. As long as we don't know for sure we won't waste time staying here."

"But …"

"This is not up for discussion." John interrupted him. "Now get some rest, we'll be leaving early tomorrow. And don't even think about wandering into town." He added with a glance at Dean. "Several streets here have caved in because of the rain. This town isn't exactly safe at the moment. I don't need you two getting hurt."

"What about the truck?" Dean asked.

"We'll come back later and get it."

"Dad …" Sam tried again.

"That's an order, Sam." John said abruptly, before he stood up and left the room without another word.

Sam stared at the closed door through which his father had gone.

"Sam, let it be." Dean said quietly, seeing the frustration in his brother's eyes.

Sam visibly trembled, his lips pressed tightly together. He glared at Dean, but stayed quiet. He exhaled heavily and started pacing the room.

Sighing, Dean grabbed for the TV remote and started flipping through the channels. He should have known if things were good, they never stayed that way for very long.

After two hours of pacing the room and listening to his brother's attempts to cheer him up, Sam had enough.

"I'll be back in an hour." He said.

Before Dean could reply, Sam had left their motel room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Dean alone.

"Damn." He groaned. Their Dad would freak out if Sam wasn't here when he came back and Dean would be stuck right in the middle of it. Again.

No, things never really stayed good in their family for very long.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.: A huge thank you to ****Youngest Ones Rule and Kaz2y567i for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you to you all for reading and reviewing! **

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**Chapter 3**

John closed the door behind him and headed straight for the bed. With a heavy sigh, he sank down, his elbows on his knees as his hands raked through his hair.

Visions. Sam was having visions. Of people dying. And there were other children like him.

He closed his eyes and forced the rising panic down. There was no time for it.

He had known for a while something like this could happen. He had known Sam was special.

That night, when Mary had died, the demon had done something to his son. It had changed him.

"The demon has plans with them, John. He's going to use them. Against us! He's going to turn them against their own kind."

John shook his head. He didn't want to remember those words. He didn't want to remember the whole conversation. He wished he had never met Carl Jenkins, had never learned the truth about what the demon had wanted in his house that night.

It had been easier to believe it had come for Mary. It killed him to know he hadn't been able to save his wife, but it was easier than this. It was easier than knowing there was something after his son, his baby.

The demon had come for Sam that night.

And now Sam had visions… about people dying.

„He's going to turn them against their own kind."

No, John refused to accept it. Sam was still _Sam_. His Sam, who hated hunting so much simply because he couldn't stand hurting anything or anyone, not even something evil.

Sam was good. Sam was what reminded him that not everything in this world was evil, that there was still something left to hope for.

He had screwed things up with Dean, had turned his oldest into a version of himself, the perfect hunter. But Sam, Sam still had dreams. He still had hopes for a future, for something normal.

John would give anything to give this normality back to his sons. To make things right… go back four years and _not turn his son away._

Maybe then he could have been there. He could have stopped Sam's world from spiraling down like his had. He could have been there when Sam's first vision had come and maybe … maybe he could have done something about it.

A wave of despair rolled over him when he realized that he really couldn't have stopped any of this from happening, even if he had been there. Sam would have still lost everything and the visions would still keep coming to him. It didn't matter whether John was there or not, if Sam was supposed to turn evil, then …

"We have to kill them, John. We have to kill them all."

John didn't want to remember that conversation, because every time he did, a little part of him died.

---SPN---

"Excuse me, could you tell me where I can find the town's library?" Sam asked the desk clerk at their hotel.

The young woman looked up from her computer and her face immediately lit up when she saw Sam. She smiled at him apologetically. "I could, but the whole area is cordoned off. A part of the ground near there has given way; apparently there are tunnels everywhere under the town no one knew about. My cousin works for the city planning department, he told me. The mayor is giving them a tough time because of it. Serves them right, if you ask me. Have you seen the building they put up in the middle of the park?" She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, the street in front of the library gave way; it was even worse at the fairground, half of that place is gone."

"Oh, um, I hope no one got hurt too badly." Sam said, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Too many." The woman sighed. "Five people died. It happened so quickly."

"I'm so sorry." Sam felt miserable. Here he was disappointed about not being able to go to the library when people had died. His Dad was right … he was a selfish bastard.

"I didn't know them." She shrugged.

Sam frowned. "Oh …" He didn't really know what else to say. "Well, um, thanks anyway."

"Did you want to find something special in the library?" The woman held him back. "If you want to borrow a book, I have a few… in my apartment." Her smile broadened.

"Oh, no, thanks. I was just interested in the town's history. The Indian Wars, actually, there was a lot of fighting in this area back then, right?" Sam replied.

"Hm, I don't have any books about that, but maybe something else might interest you?" She looked at him hopefully, shoving her chest forward.

"Um …"

"I could help you." A second woman appeared from behind the counter. She looked shyly at Sam, her eyes quickly dropped as soon as she had his attention.

"I don't really just need any book." Sam said exasperated. He wished he had never asked. "I just …"

"The Indian Wars, I know. I can help you with that. I … studied history. Some time ago." She went on, still looking at the floor rather than at Sam. "I don't have the books anymore, but I can probably tell you all you need to know."

"Really? That would be great." Sam's face lit up. "Um, over a coffee maybe? My treat."

"Okay." She gave him another shy smile and came around the counter to join him.

The clerk shot her a furious glare. "Have fun." She said tight lipped.

"Thanks." Sam smiled, before turning to his new acquaintance. "I'm Sam."

"Amy." She said her eyes again averted.

"Nice to meet you, Amy." Sam smiled. "So, you gotta help me. Where do we go?"

"There's a cafe right here in the hotel. It's still open." Amy replied hesitantly.

"Great. Let's go."

---SPN---

Sam found out pretty quickly that if Amy found a subject she was interested in, all her shyness was forgotten. For the past two hours she had told him practically everything she knew about the town's history during the Indian Wars and the battles that had taken place in the area.

Sam enjoyed listening to her immensely. Not only were her descriptions vivid and entertaining, but she confirmed there had been a battle on the exact same meadow he had had his vision.

"How did you know about that?" Amy asked looking at him surprised.

"Oh, um, I … I'm just really interested in that time. So, um, was there anything … special … about that battle?" Sam asked, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

"Special?"

"Yeah, like something … not … uh …"

"Not normal?"

"Yeah." Sam laughed quietly. "I know it's a stupid question."

Amy gave him a warm smile in reply. "Not really. Abnormal things happen here all the time."

"Really? Like what?" Sam asked, his interest piqued.

"Oh, um, you know … just things." She blushed and stared intently at the coffee cup in front of her.

"I see." Sam took a deep breath before he continued. He was afraid he would spook her completely, but he just had to know. "So, what about the hotel? Anything interesting about it?"

"It wasn't built yet back then, so …" She shrugged apologetically.

"What about later? I mean, you work here, right? Must be exciting?" Sam tried again.

"Oh, uh, yeah … not really." She laughed quietly. "It's just a job. The hotel belongs to my aunt and after …" She stopped and stared at her coffee, looking like she was suddenly a million miles away.

"After what?" Sam asked carefully.

Amy took a deep breath and when she looked up again, she was smiling. "Aunt Karen offered me a job and I was grateful to have one. What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm … I'm taking some time off, actually. I was pre-law at Stanford, but then … things happened." Now it was Sam who stared down at his coffee, lost in his own thoughts.

"I understand." Amy said quietly.

Sam looked up and their eyes met. The way she looked at him, he knew she really did understand. "I'm on a road trip with my brother right now. It's fun … most of the time."

"I can imagine. I always wanted to travel and see the world." Amy said.

"Me too." Sam grinned.

For the next half hour they discussed all the places they wanted to see in the world. Sam loved it. Discussing something that had nothing to do with monsters, demons, visions or taking out revenge on the thing that killed his mother and girlfriend – it felt amazing. For the first time in a long time he felt like he could actually breathe freely.

"That is quite a list you have there." Sam laughed.

"Yes, it is. Not much else to do here other than dreaming about going somewhere else." Amy sighed.

"One day you're going to see it all."

"So will you."

"Yeah." Sam said quietly.

"Yeah." Amy's eyes went back to her coffee cup.

Sam's did too.

"There was a murder once." She suddenly said out of the blue.

Sam looked at her surprised. "At the hotel?"

"Yes. I was still a kid, but I remember all the police and my aunt was crying and she kept screaming that it would ruin her. It didn't." She added dryly.

"Obviously."

"Yeah. A simple murder isn't going to shock this town." A shadow crossed her face. "Nothing ever does."

"This town doesn't exactly strike me as having a high crime rate." Sam said. "It looks rather peaceful, even with the damage from the flooding."

"Yeah, we're a peaceful little town."

Sam looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Nothing's perfect, huh?"

"No, it really isn't." She smiled sadly.

"So, the murder … you remember what happened?"

"You want the short version or the gory details?" She gave him a mischievous grin.

"I think the short version will suffice." Sam laughed.

"A woman was murdered, stabbed by her husband. I think she had an affair, but that might just be town rumor. You know how fast those spread."

"Yes, I know." Sam smiled. He remembered the crazy witness reports he and Dean had collected over the years. People had a huge tendency to amplify what had really happened. It didn't make finding the truth very easy.

"He stabbed her several times. The whole room was covered in blood. I know … I sneaked in at night to have a look." She winked at him.

"You strike me as the adventurous type." Sam grinned.

"Yeah, I was." Her smile faded and something sad flashed through her eyes. "Not anymore though."

"What happened?" Sam asked carefully.

She shrugged. "Curiosity killed the cat. I learned the hard way that not knowing everything is sometimes better." She gave him another smile, but it looked forced this time.

Sam knew this kind of smile too well.

He wanted to say something, anything to turn that smile into a real one again, but the ringing of his cell phone stopped him. With an apologetic glance, Sam answered the call.

"Where the hell are you?" Dean's angered voice yelled into his ear.

Sam rolled his eyes. "In the hotel's cafe. Drinking coffee. What's the problem?"

"What's the problem? Damn it, Sam, you said you'd be back in an hour."

"So?" Sam glanced at his watch and immediately knew why his brother was as furious as he was. Having been gone for nearly three hours had put Dean into full worried big brother mode and Sam couldn't even blame him.

"Three hours, Sam! You're three hours late!" Dean said angrily.

"Actually, I'm just two hours late." He flinched, imagining how that reply probably infuriated his brother even more. "Look, I'm sorry. I'll be back soon."

There was a moment of silence and Sam could practically hear Dean trying to stay calm and not drag him back through the phone that instant.

"Fine. Just get back here." Dean pressed out eventually and ended the call.

Sighing, Sam looked back at Amy. "My brother."

"It's nice to be missed." She smiled.

"Yeah, well …" Sam smirked. He pulled out his wallet and placed the money for their coffees on the table. "This was nice. Thank you for taking your time and telling me all this."

"Thank _you_." She smiled, pointing at the money. "And it was nice for me too. I don't get to do this very often."

Sam looked at her for a moment. "You should." He said.

"Maybe." She shrugged, her eyes downcast again.

"Can I give you a ride home? Our car is parked right outside."

"I live here, in the hotel, but thanks." She smiled.

"Okay then."

They both got up and walked into the lobby in silence.

"Good night." Sam said.

"Good night."

He turned to his room, when she called after him.

"Did I tell you that you sleep in the room?"

"_The_ room?"

"Yep." She winked and waved him goodbye before turning to the stairs to her own room.

Sam shook his head as he watched her disappearing. He couldn't help grinning as he walked to his room.

It vanished quickly when he stepped into their room. He saw Dean sitting on the bed, TV remote in his hand and flipping through the channels. He looked up for a short moment, giving Sam an angry glare before turning back to the TV.

Next to Dean, Sam saw a dead woman, knife still stuck in her abdomen. And the walls were covered in blood.

"Oh no." He groaned.

A few moments later the pain hit him again full force.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.: A huge thank you to ****Youngest Ones Rule and Kaz2y567i for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you to you all for reading and reviewing! **

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**Chapter 4**

His head hurt – a lot! That was the first thing Sam noticed as he slowly regained consciousness. It was dark and he wondered how he could not have noticed it had turned night. It took him a minute to realize it was dark because his eyes were still closed. Another minute passed before he thought of opening them.

"Sam, you with me?"

Dean's voice rang loud in his ears and increased the pounding in his head ten fold. He turned his head from the voice and opened his eyes, wincing as he was blinded by a white light.

"What the …" He mumbled, quickly closing his eyes again.

"Sorry." His father's voice muttered.

Sam groaned and forced his eyes open again. You didn't play weak with John Winchester in the room.

"Sam?" Dean asked again.

This time Sam was prepared and listening didn't hurt quite as much.

"Headache." Sam choked out.

"Yeah, no shit." Dean smirked.

A moment later, Sam felt himself lifted up to a sitting position. The world tilted to one side as his stomach flipped from the movement; he was pretty sure he was going to throw up at any moment. A steadying hand on his shoulder reminded him that his father was right next to him - and throwing up was much less an option than being weak. He had learned that painful lesson ten years ago when he had thrown up on one of his father's favorite weapons placed on the Impala's backseat – right in the middle of a hunt.

So he swallowed down the bile in his throat and waited for something else to happen. Most likely they wouldn't just let him sit here like this, right? Wherever here was. He hadn't quite found the courage to try and move his head to look around. Concentrating on Dean's face in front of him was challenging enough just now.

"Here." Dean handed him a glass of water and four white pills.

Sam accepted them gratefully.

Half an hour later he felt good enough to have get up from the ground and to sit on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, head propped up in his hands.

"Did you have another vision?" John asked.

"Dad." Dean looked at his father pleadingly. _Not yet!_

"Sam?" John ignored him and looked expectantly at his youngest son.

Sam took a deep breath and looked at his father. "Yes. Same one as before."

"Dead woman, blood on the walls." John said. It wasn't a question.

Sam nodded and immediately flinched at the movement.

"You passed out." Dean stated. He looked at him half worried, half accusingly.

"Sorry." Sam said sheepishly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's not like it was your fault."

Sam puffed. He wished Dean would make up his mind. "I know what happened."

"You had a vision about the murder?" John asked.

"No, a woman who works here told me about it. It must have happened ten, maybe fifteen years ago." Sam told them. "Her husband stabbed her. Rumor had it she had an affair."

"Okay then, case closed." Dean shrugged.

Sam glared at him angrily. "We don't really know what happened, either here or at the field."

"You saw it before the pain came?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

"So it wasn't like a real vision."

Sam was pretty sure he must have misunderstood his brother.

Dean squirmed under Sam's surprised and hurt glare. "You know what I mean."

"All I know is that I saw a dead woman in here… and walls full of blood!" Sam snapped. "And I saw a freaking Cowboy and Indian battle live and in color!"

"Sam!" John silenced him.

Sam glared angrily at his family. "This has to mean something!"

"We can always come back later, Sam." Dean tried to reason with his brother. "If Caleb really has information that can help us kill the yellow eyed bastard, then we can't risk being late. It's more important."

Sam knew Dean was right. He wanted to find the demon and finally end this as much as his father and brother. He did want it more than anything.

To ignore these visions though? He didn't care if the pain had come before or after or if what he had seen had already happened - to him the experience had felt real. It had to mean something!

"This isn't up for discussion. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. Be ready!" John effectively ended the conversation and left the room.

Dean and Sam looked at each other, but neither of them said another word.

---SPN---

Leaving the next day proved more difficult than the Winchesters had thought. Rain returned in the night and the only road leading to Lincoln, Nebraska, where Caleb had been living for the last couple of years, was now closed because of flooding. The rain had stopped in the morning, but it wasn't likely that the road would be opened again anytime soon. Flood waters took some time to recede.

John had taken the news with a stoic face before he had retreated to his room, mumbling something about possible leads and more research and not getting into any kind of trouble. The last part was most likely directed at his sons.

Sam used the extra time to find out more about the "mystery" of his visions. Dean didn't quite see the use in it. Sure, the visions had been strange, but what Sam had seen already happened – there was nothing they could do to change it.

So with nothing else to do and both members of his family locked up in the hotel, Dean decided to go for a walk. He hoped to get a look at some of the classic cars being shown at the fair. Even if the area was closed to the public for safety reasons, he might be able to see something from the distance or cars since moved out.

He was sitting on a bench, about sixty feet away from the grounds – the closest he was able to get – when a man, from the looks only a few years older than Dean, sat down next to him.

"Quite a view, huh?" He said.

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "I wish we could get closer."

"Yes, freaking rain. I thought there'd be more time to have a look at the cars. I'm Matt." He quickly added.

"Dean." He introduced himself. "So you're not from here?"

"No, just passing through. Hey, is that your Chevy in front of the Marillin Inn?" Matt asked.

"Yes, it is. 1967 Impala. How'd you know?" Dean asked, suspicions against this stranger immediately rising. He cursed himself for letting even more details slip about his car. It was something that had been drilled into him since a very young age – never trust strangers who knew too much about you.

"I drove by you on the road and I saw you later standing in front of it. It's quite a beauty."

"Drove by?" Dean breathed out, relieved to find his suspicions unwarranted. There had only been one person able to drive by him during the traffic jam. "That motorcycle belongs to you?"

"Yep. Always brings me to where I need to be." Matt smiled.

Dean laughed quietly. "I have to say, for a moment I envied you. We were stuck in that jam for over two hours."

"It certainly has it advantages. Though it sucks driving through rain." He laughed.

The ringing of Dean's phone stopped him from replying. One glance at the screen told him that it was his brother calling.

"Hey, Sam. Had enough brooding? What do you say we go look for a nice bar and …"

"I found something, Dean." Sam interrupted his brother.

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. Couldn't they just enjoy one day in between? "What?" He inquired despite not really wanting to know.

"I did an online search for anything strange about this town." Sam started.

"And?"

"There is an unusual high amount of people disappearing in the area. I've only been able to go back about a hundred years, but I bet it goes even farther."

"That's it?" Dean asked, unimpressed. "People disappear all the time, Sam."

"Not that many. At least not in a town of this size. And many of them left behind families … husbands, wives, kids. They disappeared without any indication there had been problems." Sam went on, the determination in his voice telling Dean his brother wouldn't let go of this easily.

He glanced at his new acquaintance; Matt did his best to not appear to be eavesdropping, but they were still sitting next to each other on the bench and he had to be deaf to not hear every word Dean was saying. He didn't like discussing their job in front of strangers.

"Why don't we talk about this over a beer?" He suggested.

"Dean …"

"Come on, Sam, this is a big stretch, and you know it. I'm not planning to be cooped up in that hotel room all day. So we either talk about this in a bar or a diner or while driving the Impala through town or we don't. Maybe Dad would like to talk this through with you." He added as an afterthought.

Sam's exasperated groan, clearly audible through the phone, told him that he had won the argument.

"Fine. Where are you?" Sam asked.

"I'll meet you at the hotel; we can go looking for a bar from there. Give me ten minutes."

He flipped his phone closed and turned back to Matt.

"My brother." He explained.

"How's he doing? I hope he feels better." Matt said.

Immediately, Dean's suspicions were back. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, uh …" Matt gave him a small smile. "Sorry, I thought you'd seen me. I was in the corridor when your brother … collapsed. I would have helped, but it seemed as if you had things under control and, well, I didn't want to intrude."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. He hated knowing that someone had watched Sam during one of his visions – or whatever it was that was going on with him right now. He also hated people forcing their helpon him and his family. So in a way he was grateful that Matt had held back.

Still, it felt odd. What kind of person sees someone collapsing right in front of him and doesn't offer help? Not a good person, that was for sure.

He was still considering his next words, when a loud rumble was heard – it sounded as if something huge had just completely collapsed.

"What the hell was that?" He asked startled.

Matt paled. "It can't be. It's too soon." He stammered. A shadow crossed over his face and he looked at Dean with remorse. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

Before Dean could say anything else, Matt jumped up and ran down the street. Utterly confused, Dean watched him disappear behind a corner. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and pulled out his phone to call his brother.

His worry increased when he only reached Sam's voicemail.

He tried to call his father next – with the same result.

He wasn't able to reach his family. Dean's panic multiplied by a hundred when he heard the sound of sirens ringing in the air - something horrible had happened.

Jumping up from the bench, he started running down the street, back to the hotel, hoping that whatever had happened had nothing to do with the building he had left his family in.

When Dean finally reached the Marillin Inn a few minutes later, he stopped dead in his tracks, staring in horror at the empty space in front of him.

Where just a few minutes ago a four story building had stood, Dean now only saw a gaping hole in the ground.

The hotel was gone.

And so was his family.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N.: A huge thank you to ****Youngest Ones Rule and Kaz2y567i for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you to you all for reading and reviewing. **

* * *

**Chapter 5**

"_Read me a book, Daddy." _

_With a sigh, John looked up from his journal to his six year old son standing before him. "Why don't you ask Dean, Sammy?"_

"_Dean's asleep, Dad. Pleeeeaaase." _

_Sam looked at him with his puppy dog eyes and John knew he couldn't deny him. Research would have to wait another minute or two. "Just one chapter." _

"_Thanks__, Daddy!" Sam rejoiced and climbed up on this father's lap. With a smile, he handed his book to his father. _

_John didn't look at the title; Sam only owned three different books and by now John knew all of them word for word. Suppressing another sigh, he opened the book. As soon as he read the first page, saw the pictures on it, his blood froze. Instead of the familiar pictures and text he knew so well, he saw illustrations of men being slaughtered in the most brutal way. The text was in a foreign language John had never seen before. Dried blood was smeared on the pages. Shocked he looked at his youngest. "Where did you get this book, Sam?" _

"_Dean gave it to me." Sam replied innocently. _

_Anger welled up in John. "DEAN!" _

_He lifted Sam up and put him on the floor; with a few wide strides he had reached his sons' bedroom. Angrily he pushed the door open, once more calling for his son, ready to burst into the room. _

_He came to a sudden stop, when he saw Dean lying on the bed. In this moment, the bottom of his world dropped and his heart shattered into a million pieces. A small gasp escaped his mouth._

_Dean's throat was slit and he was lying in a pool of blood – his blood. Lifeless eyes stared back at John. Even from this far, John knew that there was nothing he could do anymore. His son was dead. _

_Murdered. _

_Fear and desperation gripped his heart and he whirled around, ready to take his youngest and get him to safety, away from whatever had invaded their home and killed Dean. He had to save at least one son. _

_He froze when his eyes fell on Sam._

_Instead of his son's warm hazel eyes he loved so much, he stared into black dots. _

"_No." He gasped. _

"_What's wrong, Daddy?" Sam asked with an innocent smile. "Are you __gonna read to me__ now?" He held the book up expectantly; it was then that John noticed Sam was holding something in his other hand – a bloodied knife. _

"NO!" John's eyes flew open as he woke with a start, his own scream ringing in his ears. Breathing heavily, he raked his hands through his hair as he tried to shake off the nightmare. He told himself that's all it was – just a nightmare. A trick his subconscious was playing on him, nothing more.

Just a nightmare…

Sam's visions had unsettled him more than he'd expected. He had known for some time now that his youngest son was one of the so-called special children, that something had been done to him that night, but to have his fears now confirmed, to witness…

He startled when he suddenly noticed something wet on his forehead. Wiping his hand over the spot, he saw it was blood.

"Crap." He muttered. His wound from earlier must have opened again. He should have asked Dean to stitch it up.

It was then he realized he wasn't lying on a bed as he had first assumed. As he thought about it, he couldn't remember going to bed anyway. The last thing he remembered was sitting at the table and reading one of the books Bobby had lent him; it held immense information about demons, but nothing had really proved to be helpful to him. He couldn't see anything in the utter darkness which had fallen over the room (odd in itself - shouldn't there at least be streetlights lighting the room?); he started feeling around until he realized he was sitting on the ground. He got on his knees and searched the floor for his bag which held a flashlight – among other things. It took him a while to get his bag; what he did find though was toppled over furniture and broken glass.

"What the …"

Finally, he found his bag and quickly got out his flashlight. Passing the beam across the room, he saw chairs, table and dresser lying toppled over, most of it destroyed. Part of the ceiling had given in; the whole room looked as if a bomb had gone off.

The biggest shock though was the windows; the glass was shattered and what John saw through it wasn't the night sky, but a wall of dirt. Not believing his eyes, he stumbled up to one of the windows; when he held his hand against the _wall_, his fear was confirmed – earth.

He was underground.

His thoughts immediately went to Sam and Dean; where they alright? Alive? Buried?

He had to find his sons!

---SPN---

Groaning, Sam pushed against the debris pushing against him. He'd woken up to this huge piece of rock pinning him down, pressing on his legs and part of his chest. It made breathing difficult and pushing with all his might had left him breathless several times, close enough to passing out and he was afraid to try again.

To make a bad situation worse, he lay in a puddle of water. It wasn't rising, fortunately, but it was cold – ice cold. In the beginning, it had felt like a thousand needles stick him; now he only felt numb where the water touched him.

He didn't bother calling for help anymore. He had done so right after waking up to this nightmare, but had received no answer. He was on his own.

He had no idea what had happened. All of the sudden, the hotel had started shaking; at first he had been afraid the whole building would come down on him. He had tried running out of the room, but then had literally lost the ground under his feet when the hotel collapsed. The sudden stop had pressed nearly all air out of his lungs and the falling debris from above had done the rest.

Sam wasn't sure for how long he'd been unconscious, but when he woke he'd found himself in complete darkness.

He usually wasn't afraid of the dark, but right now he struggled hard to not give in to the panic building inside him. He felt as if he had been buried alive and that definitely was something he was afraid of.

Doing his best to stay calm despite the circumstances, Sam tried to push the debris off of him again. He pushed as hard as he could, his muscles straining – but the debris wouldn't budge. His chest constricted and the more he pushed, the harder it became to breathe. Gasping for air, he gave up.

He was trapped and there was no way he was getting out of here alone.

---SPN---

After searching the room for his phone and finding it smashed into pieces on the ground (the hotel's phone not fairing any better), John grabbed his bag and made his way out of the room. He needed to find his sons and get the hell out of this building before it completely collapsed on them.

Sam and Dean's room had been on the second floor, his own on the third; John hoped deeply they hadn't been in it. Dean was a restless soul; staying put inside the hotel for so long wouldn't have been like him. John prayed wherever he might have gone, he had dragged Sam with him. Judging by the amount of damage in his room, he didn't want to think how destroyed the floors below were.

When he stepped out of the room, the corridor looked as bad as his room which confirmed his fears on how bad it must be on the lower floors. A part of the floor had caved in, leaving a dark hole in the ground, all pictures had fallen down and cables hung freely from the ceiling. A single lamp, flickering erratically, was the only light source.

"Hello?" He called, hoping for someone to reply.

"Help … help me!" A woman screamed from down the corridor.

John didn't waste any time and quickly rushed to the room the screams had been coming from. With one swift kick, the door crashed open, revealing a room which looked as bad as his had.

"Help me, over here!" The woman called again.

John reached her with two fast strides. He found her trapped under a fallen cabinet. It took him only a minute to get her free. Supporting the middle-aged woman, he helped her to a standing position.

"Can you walk?" He asked.

She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. It was evident she was in pain. "Thank you so much. I thought I'd die in here. What happened? Why is it so dark?"

John cleared his throat. "We're underground."

"That's not possible." She puffed, clearly not believing him.

John pointed the flashlight to one of the windows, proving his point.

"Oh my god." Horrified, the woman stared at the window. A moment later her expression changed to one of anger. "This is all Harold's fault!" She called out.

"Who's Harold?" John asked confused.

"The idiot had to come to Nebraska! I wanted to go to Hawaii, but no, he insisted on coming here – to _Nebraska!_ You want to know why? Because of all his _dear_ memories from his childhood. He was three – THREE! – when his family moved away. He doesn't remember anything about his time here. But since his mother died last year, he's gone all nostalgic. The fool! See what it brought us! We're trapped! Or I am! The imbecile is having his fun looking at the various bars in town. Ohh, when I get my hands on that dunderhead! I'm going to …"

"Ma'am, before you do anything to him, we need to get out of here. I'd say we get moving." John interrupted her tirade; he pointed the flashlight toward the door and started moving.

"Don't you think we should introduce ourselves first?"

John stopped and slowly turned around. He stared at her incredulously.

"It is the proper thing to do, don't you think?" She smiled sweetly.

Glaring at her, he took a deep breath. "John."

A raised brow was all the answer he received.

"Winchester." He growled after a moment of silence.

A satisfied smile spread over her face. "Roberta Theresa Bukater. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester." She held out her hand.

John stared at it for a moment, then turned around and walked away.

Roberta answered with an indignant puff before she quickly followed him outside.

---SPN---

By the time they had reached the stairway, John knew all about Harold Bukater's newfound obsession with his former childhood homes - which apparently had been many, due to his father's military job. Roberta herself had lived all her life in a small town in Texas. Her father had owned a grocery store.

John wished deeply she had never left her home town.

The stairs were still standing and looked safe enough to dare the trip upstairs.

"Go up as far as possible; if you can't get out yourself, call for help until someone hears you." John said, interrupting Roberta's tale of her neighbor's ex-husband who apparently was a psychotic serial killer - or an accountant. John had only half listened.

"What about you?" Roberta asked surprised.

"I'm going downstairs." At her terrified stare, he added, "I have to find my sons. Their room was on the second floor."

"Maybe they weren't in it."

"Maybe." John said doubtfully. He wasn't sure about Dean, but he knew that Sam had been hell bent on finding out more about what might be behind his visions. He'd probably been in his room the last few hours, hooked up to his laptop just like John had been buried in his books. With a sigh, John thought that his youngest was becoming more like him than he liked.

Which meant that Sam had been in his room most likely and Dean might have been too.

He couldn't just leave now. Not if they might still be down there. He had to make sure.

"You can't just leave me alone. What if something happens?" Roberta asked horrified.

"It can't really get much worse than this." John said dryly. With a sigh, he added, "You can come with me, of course." He hoped dearly she wouldn't.

"Down there? I'm not that crazy!"

"Suit yourself. Good luck." With that, John carefully started his way downstairs.

Roberta stared after him, her eyes going from him to the stairs back and forth. "If I die, it will be your fault. I hope you know that!" She called after him.

She didn't get a response.

For a short moment, Roberta considered going after him. She didn't want to die alone, but she hung on to life too much to follow this stranger into the darkness that was awaiting him downstairs. With a deep breath, she carefully began climbing up the stairs.

---SPN---

"Sam? Dean?" John called in the darkness. As he let the cone of his flashlight shine through the corridor, the amount of damage caused his breath to stick in his throat.

It was worse than expected. The ceiling on one half of the corridor had come down; it didn't come as a surprise as he had seen it already from above. Until now though he had still hoped that his sons' room had been on the other side.

As he stood there now, these hopes were crushed.

"Sam? Dean?"

Carefully he made his way over the fallen debris; the floor creaked with every step he took - it was sheer luck that it hadn't caved in yet as well.

"SAM? DEAN?"

"Dad?"

The cracked voice was like a gift from the gods for John.

"Sammy! Where are you?"

"Just look under the ... b-biggest rock you can f-find." Sam's voice sounded pain-filled, which spiked John's worry.

Following his son's voice, John finally found him, half buried under the fallen debris. His chest tightened when the cone of his flashlight wandered over the area. It might not be the biggest rock Sam was trapped under, but it was big enough. He also noticed the water that had gathered in this area.

"You okay?" John asked, kneeling beside Sam. He placed the flashlight on the ground next to them, lighting the surroundings. His hands immediately did a quick scan of his son's upper body, looking for any injuries.

"I'll be o-okay if you get this s-stuff off of me." Sam replied, his teeth chattering as he spoke.

"Just give me a second." John said as he stood up again. He grabbed the flashlight and started inspecting the rock, making sure it hadn't pierced Sam somewhere before he'd start to lift it off. "How fast is the water rising?"

"Not at all, it's been the…the same since I woke up." Sam replied.

"That's good news at least." John mumbled, then asked the dreaded question. "Where's Dean?"

"He wasn't here. I … I was going to meet him outside just before … this happened."

John breathed out relieved. At least one son was safe.

"You gonna k-kick his ass for disobeying your orders?" Sam tried for a grin, but failed miserably.

"Absolutely." John smiled. He bent down to Sam and gave him a short pat on the shoulder. "But first I'll get this off of you."

"Good. Cause this thing ..." He winced in pain. "It makes … breathing a bit difficult."

"Not much longer." John promised. He got up and put his hands under the debris. His face turned red as he slowly managed to lift it a few inches.

Just when Sam was starting to prepare to get out from under the rock, it slipped out of John's hands and fell back on him, hitting him hard. Sam cried out in pain, biting his lips to stop any more screams from escaping his mouth. Tears were rolling down his face from the pain.

"Shit! Sammy, you okay?" John asked worried, kneeling beside Sam again. He cursed himself inwardly for having caused his son further pain.

"I'm good." Sam pressed out, his breath hitching. "Just get it off." He pushed against the debris, desperate to get rid of it.

John nodded determinedly and once more started to lift the piece of ceiling off of his son. He tried to block out Sam's quiet groans of pain, the fear in his eyes, his hands that were closed into tight fists and the shivering of his body. It would just distract him from the task at hand.

The stone cut into his hands, but John didn't feel the pain. He held the rock up, lifting it higher until he heard Sam crawling from under it.

"I'm out." Sam said.

Not a moment too soon as the rock slipped from John's hands and crashed back on the ground.

John sank down, ignoring the cold of the water, and leaned his back against the rock, trying to catch his breath. It was on days like this that he felt his advancing age the most.

"Thanks." Sam's quiet voice reached him.

"Anytime." John replied.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for having his son back in his life. He had never allowed himself to admit how much he had truly missed Sam, how much he hated himself for forcing Sam away and how badly he wanted to take back every word of his that had enlarged the rift between him and his youngest. He never wanted his child to be apart from him for so long and in such a way.

The need to be close to Sam, to just go to him and hold him was near overwhelming, a feeling John had thought to be lost years ago. The complicated relationship with Sam held him back, but he hoped that one day, maybe, he'd be able to show both his sons how much they meant to him. They were everything to him. Suddenly, the fact that Sam was having visions didn't seem so important anymore.

The cold of the water soaking through his clothes brought him back to the present.

"Let me check you out and then let's get out of here." He said, making his way to his son.

Sam was still lying on the ground, surrounded by water. He groaned as he attempted to get up. "Damn." He cursed silently.

"Come on." John helped him up and sat him on the rock that had just moments ago trapped him. "Let me check your ribs."

"I don't think they're b-broken, just brui... Ou!" He winced in pain when John put pressure on his ribs.

"Definitely broken." John sighed. "You have any pain when breathing?" He was worried one of the fractured ribs might pierce the lung.

"Not since I'm out from un-under that thing." Sam replied. He knew the dangers as much as his father. "As long as I don't t-take any deep breaths I sh-should be fine."

"I'd still rather see you in a hospital right now." John sighed.

"I never thought I'd s-say this, but so do I." Sam said ruefully.

"How are your legs? Can you walk?" As he asked, John took off the flannel shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt and handed it to his son.

Sam gratefully accepted it. "Yeah, I'm good." Suppressing another groan, he put on the shirt and stood up. "Thanks."

"Here." John also handed him a second flashlight he had taken out of his bag.

Sam laughed quietly. "That's what I l-love about you, Dad. You're nothing if not prepared." He reached for the light, but froze in his motion before he took it. His eyes widened and he took a step back.

"Sam?" John looked at his youngest alarmed.

"It's happening again." Sam whispered. A moment later he cried out in pain. Holding his head with both hands, he sank down on his knees.

John was at his side in seconds, putting his arms around his son and supporting him.

This was not what he had in mind when wishing to embrace his son.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.: A huge thank you to ****Youngest Ones Rule for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing! **

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 6**

Sam stared at the scene that unfolded before him. Where just moments ago there had been darkness and destruction was now a well lit room, undamaged and inhabited by a young couple. They were arguing. The woman screamed at the man until he pushed her down on the bed. Before she had a chance to get up again, he rammed a knife deep into her stomach. Pulling it out again, he repeated the motion, over and over. Blood splattered everywhere - and within moments, the walls were bloodstained.

Sam wanted to lunge forward to stop the man from further slaughter, when an excruciating pain exploded in his head. The room vanished and he once again found himself surrounded by darkness. Clutching his head with his hands, he sank to the ground, hardly aware of the arms holding him.

"...am? Sam?"

Through the blood rushing in his ears, he heard his father calling for him. As the pain slowly subsided, he let go of his head and gave his father the thumbs up.

"m'okay." He mumbled sluggishly. He still felt his father's arms around him and held on in order to steady himself. The world was spinning dangerously fast.

"What did you see?" John wanted to know.

Sam was starting to get sick of the question; he missed the good old times when neither his brother nor father cared about what he thought, much less what he'd seen.

Or maybe he was just gonna get sick in general.

"I'm gonna throw up." He managed to warn his dad.

Reacting instantly, as he always did, John turned Sam away and instead of his father's lap, the youngest Winchester emptied his stomach on the debris that had previously trapped him. Poetic justice, if you asked him.

"Better?" John asked.

He didn't sound annoyed as Sam would have expected. The warmth and worry in his voice as well as the strong arms still holding him triggered a familiar feeling that Sam couldn't quite grasp. "Yeah."

The world had stopped spinning, but Sam took the feeling of safety and warmth his father's arms offered; leaning into them, he gave into the weakness these visions always left him with. He hated it.

He startled when a hand gently stroked his hair. This was a side of his father he didn't think still existed – if it ever had.

"What do you say we get out of here now?" John asked a moment later. "This water is starting to get cold."

Sam laughed quietly. "You'll g-get used to it after a while." He pulled away from his dad, immediately missing the contact as the cold resurged through his body. Wrapping his arms around his body, he slowly got up.

"It's time to get you out of it then." A smile flashed across John's face. "You were always the last out of the water, no matter how cold it was. I swear, sometimes your lips had already turned blue."

Sam puffed. "We never stayed at a p-place long enough for that to-to happen." He regretted his words the moment they'd left his mouth. He'd just meant them as a joke - this time. Unfortunately, he had too often spoken them in anger in the past – anger usually directed at his father.

"Johnsburg, Illinois." John said, not a trace of anger in his voice.

Sam breathed out in relief.

"We stayed in a cabin at a lake. You and Dean spent hours in the water. It was a miracle you didn't grow gills. " John smiled at the memory. "Dean always had to drag you back into the house to warm up."

Sam had a vague memory of that time. He remembered him and Dean playing in the water and later sitting huddled in blankets in front of a chimney while their dad cleaned guns at a nearby table, telling them a story.

He wondered just how much he'd forgotten.

"Good old times." He smiled.

"Yeah, good old times."

They stayed quiet for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

"Well, we better get going before this whole building collapses on us." John eventually said.

"Do you have any idea what happened?" Sam asked as they slowly made their way back to the staircase. Every step hurt, but moving helped against the cold. Already, Sam felt the tremors fading.

John sighed. "Same as my truck, only bigger."

Sam looked at him confused.

"We're in a giant sinkhole that apparently swallowed the whole hotel." John explained.

Sam's eyes widened in shock. "You're kidding."

John's raised brow was all the answer Sam needed. His dad wasn't really the joking kinda person.

"Shit." He mumbled.

"Yeah." John agreed.

"You think we'll get out of here?" Sam knew he sounded like a scared five-year-old, but he needed some kind of reassurance. This came too close to being buried alive for his liking.

"The staircase is still standing; we should be able to get further up at least. It'll make it easier to find a rescue team."

Sam smiled at his father's words. John Winchester wasn't going to be found. He was the one finding their rescuers.

"The sooner the better. I can't wait to get out of these clothes and under a hot shower." Sam sighed.

John looked ruefully at his own clothes. They were both soaking wet by now; he wished he'd also taken his second duffel bag, the one holding his clothes, and not just the one with his guns and other utensils.

"John? John, are you here?" A female voice rang through the darkness.

"Anyone down here?" Another voice joined in.

"They found us." Sam breathed out relieved.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." John replied gloomily. "We're here!"

A moment later, Roberta Bukater, followed by another man, appeared before them.

"John, thank god! I was worried about you." Roberta called out, sounding slightly out of breath.

"What are you doing here? You were supposed to go up!" John growled, not even half as happy to see Roberta again as she was to see him.

"The stairs are blocked." The man cut in. "I was trying to find a way to the fourth floor when Roberta came up the stairs. We tried together, but the stairs started collapsing under us, so we had to get out of there."

"We barely escaped with our lives." Roberta chimed in. In any other circumstance, Sam would have thought it sounded overdramatic.

"The stairs are gone?" John couldn't believe it.

"Yeah. We gotta find another way out." The man said. "I'm Ben, by the way."

"John. This is my son Sam." John introduced them.

"Roberta Bukater." Roberta held out her hand to Sam. "It's a pleasure to meet you, young man."

"Uh, yeah ... likewise." Sam shook the offered hand. He shot a confused glance at his father who rolled his eyes.

"Now, Gentlemen, how do we get out of here?" Roberta asked expectantly.

---SPN---

Stan Mathers quickly walked by the crowd that had gathered behind the barrier tape, blue prints of the Marillin Inn clamped under his arm. It had been quite an argument, but eventually the Chief had agreed to his plan.

Find a way into the hotel and get out as many survivors as possible.

This wasn't exactly in their usual job description. As fire fighters they did just that – fight fire. They helped with car accidents that turned out badly and rescued the occasional cat from a tree. Lately, they also pumped out a lot of cellars. However, rescue was their job and this certainly fit the description and although it wasn't routine, they were trained for it.

Climbing into a hotel that had sunken into the depths of earth - it wasn't really what they were used to. He was lucky he was divorced already; his ex-wife would kick his ass for doing this.

He didn't look forward sending his men into this. But it would take hours for the cavalry to arrive and he didn't think these people down there could wait that long. He wasn't going to waste any more time. The national guard would help when they eventually arrived.

Determined to save as many as he could, Stan entered the small diner he and his men used to discuss their further actions, and spread the blueprints out on one of the tables. "Okay, here's what we're going to do." He looked at his crew that had gathered around him. "Three of us go in. We'll thoroughly search each floor before going down to the next one."

"That's going to take forever; it'll be quicker if we split up." Ed Hazens, one of his men, cut in. Despite being on the team for over a year now, he was still looked upon as the new guy. He was young and reckless, but also one of the best at the job – he'd proven that more than once during the past year. Stan trusted him implicitly; but he also knew that Ed was more than willing to give his life up too easily. He was never afraid to take any risk to save another.

"We've already lost enough lives today, Eddie. I'm not risking yours too." Stan replied sternly. "We go in, we check each room and we save as many as we can. No one …" He glared at the men around him. "No one is going to take any unnecessary risks. I want you all out in one piece, you hear me?" He locked eyes with each man before he continued. "Okay, we know of at least fifteen people who are trapped down there. There might be more. Look under every stone, check every corner. Don't miss anyone, because once this building fully collapses, we don't get a second chance."

He inhaled deeply, once more letting his eyes go over his men. "This is voluntarily only. Officially … all those people down there are dead. Statistically, chances of surviving a whole building crashing into earth with you in it aren't that good."

"There are statistics about that?" Chris Adams grinned.

"There are statistics about everything, man!" Eddie replied, his grin joining his co-workers'.

Stan gave them a small smile, locking eyes with Chris for a moment. Together they'd started working as fire fighters almost twenty years ago and had quickly become best friends. Today, Chris was married to Stan's sister and Stan was godfather to both their children. They had both gone through hell and back and more than once had saved each others' lives. If Stan trusted Eddie implicitly, he trusted Stan with his life. And the lives of everyone he loved.

"Personally, I think chances of surviving are a lot higher if you fight for it." He went on. "And if there's only one man down there fighting, we're not giving up on him. Any volunteers?"

All hands went up in the air and Stan looked proudly at his crew. They were the best at what they were doing. They were good men and he was proud to be working with them.

"Alright, Chris and Eddie, you come with me."

"Count me in as well." An unfamiliar voice sounded from the trailer's entrance.

Slowly, Stan turned around, his eyes falling on a young man, probably around thirty years old, standing in the doorway.

He sighed. He hated dealing with these people, so called volunteers who wanted their five minutes of fame by playing the hero. "And you are?" He asked impatiently.

"Dean." The man introduced himself.

"Dean …" Stan nodded. "You have any experience with this kind of job?"

Dean huffed. "You could say that. I know what I'm doing."

"I'm sure you do, but this is a job for the professionals. Thanks for the offer though."

He started to turn away, but then caught the determination mirrored in the younger man's eyes – it made the hair rise on his neck. He wouldn't get rid of this guy as easily as he had thought.

"I'm going down there, with or without you. I don't really care." Dean said coldly, confirming Stan's thoughts. "But I figure you can use another man, one you won't have to be afraid of losing."

"We're not losing anyone, bud. Not you, not anyone." Stan wanted to say more. Explain to the guy why it was just impossible for him to join them. How he would put the whole mission at risk. How he would be more of a burden than a help. "Is someone you know in the hotel?" He asked instead.

Dean nodded. "My brother and father."

So it wasn't fame that was driving him, Stan thought. It made turning the man's offer down a lot harder. "I promise you, we'll do everything in our power to find them."

Dean huffed. "I appreciate that, but I'm still going."

Stan shared a short glance with Chris, who only shrugged in response. He looked back at Dean and there was something in his eyes … Stan found it impossible to turn him down.

"Fine. You can come with us." He relented. He ignored the surprised gasps of his crew and hoped deeply he wouldn't regret this. "You follow my orders, no questions asked. You do as I say and if you so much as think of objecting, I'll drag you out with my own hands. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir." Dean smirked.

If possible, the determination in his eyes had only increased.

"Okay, let's get you some gear."

---SPN---

To say that Dean felt uncomfortable wearing a safety helmet and a fireproof jacket was an understatement. He felt ridiculous wearing the gear and the jacket felt too huge to be comfortable.

The only advantage was he had been able to smuggle his gun on the rescue mission without anyone noticing. The jacket was hiding everything. As for the helmet - he reasoned should the ceiling suddenly decide to drop on him, at least it would protect his head. For all that was worth. He'd still be dead, most likely. But fine - they wanted him to wear the hat, he was wearing the hat.

He only hoped his father and brother knew what kind of sacrifices he was taking upon him to get them out of this hole. "Friggin hat!" He mumbled to himself.

Getting his family out was the only thing Dean had on his mind once he entered the hotel. Only part of the roof was still visible. They had cut a hole in it leading to the staircase; it dangled dangerously as he, Stan Mathers, Chris Adams and Eddie Hazens carefully made their way to the fourth floor. He expected the damage inside the hotel would be bad, but what he saw was worse than anything he had anticipated. It looked like a bomb had exploded inside. At the end of the corridor was a huge hole where the floor had given in and had collapsed onto the corridor beyond. Shivers ran down Dean's spine when he thought of his father - his room had been on the floor below. As much as he tried to remember, he couldn't say whether his room would have been on this side of the corridor or the other. For all he knew, his father lay buried under the collapsed ceiling.

"Looks pretty scary, huh?" Stan said quietly next to him.

Dean swallowed. "I've seen worse."

"Sure you have." Stan smirked. "It'll get worse the lower we get. You sure you still want to do this?"

"Absolutely." Dean said determined.

"Hello?" Chris called. "Can anyone hear me?"

The four men held their breath, waiting for a reply. The seconds ticked away, too slow for Dean's liking who felt as if the world had suddenly slowed down to slow-motion.

"Okay, let's check the …"

"I'm here!" A female voice rang through the formerly silent corridor.

All four stood still as they tried to recognize where the voice had been coming from.

"Please, help me!"

"In here." Chris called out and immediately rushed to a door a few feet away from where they were standing.

He carefully opened the door and lit the room with his flashlight. "Is someone here?"

"I'm here … please."

The beam fell on a woman who sat in a corner, one leg pulled up to her chest, the other trapped under a piece of rock. She had a small, bleeding gash on her forehead, but otherwise seemed okay.

"Give me a hand." Chris called.

Dean, Stan and Eddie were at his side in a second and together they freed the woman. Dean helped her up and guided her to the bed.

"You okay?" He asked.

She nodded and with a small, grateful smile looked up at the men. "Thank you."

"Can you walk?" Stan asked.

Again she gave a small nod.

"Okay. Dean, you're going to accompany her back out. Chris, Eddie and I …"

"No way!" Dean cut in immediately. "I'm not leaving until I've found Sam."

"Sam?" The woman looked up at him in surprise.

Dean ignored her, his eyes narrowed on Stan Mathers instead. "I'm not."

"You have two options here, Dean. First: You help the lady up and lead her out of here. Second: Chris is leading her out and Eddie and I drag your ass up the stairs and kick you out. Then I'll make sure that you don't set foot into this hotel ever again." Stan looked at him with a raised eyebrow, his glare making sure that he meant what he'd said.

Dean bit his lower lip, unhappy with his options. He could bring the woman out; after all, he was an expert when it came to saving people. It would conflict with saving Sam though, and really, there was no question where his priorities lay when it came to Sam - or his dad. He could also try to make a run, start looking for Sam and his father on his own, but considering his surroundings, he wouldn't get very far. His third option was talking his way out of it with Stan, but he would only lose valuable time. To be honest, he wasn't exactly sure if he could win this argument.

"Fine." He grumbled eventually. "I'll lead her up and then I come right back."

"Alright." Stan dismissed him and turned to the others. "Let's check the rest of the corridor."

Frustrated, Dean watched them go and with an expression that spoke volumes, he turned to the woman. "Let's go. I don't have all day."

He started walking to the door without waiting for her to reply. He was already back in the corridor, when he noticed she wasn't behind him. With an exasperated sigh, he went back in.

"What?" He asked; his arms widespread.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead she stared at him with wide eyes. Her whole body was trembling.

Some of his anger vanished when Dean realized that the woman in front of him was down-right scared – close to a panic, actually, by the way she looked.

Inhaling deeply, he tried to sound as calm and soothing as possible. "It's okay, really. It's safe out there. The stairs are still stable. It's not dangerous."

She nodded, but still stood stock-still in the middle of the room.

"What's your name?" Dean asked.

"Amy." She breathed out. "My name's Amy."

"I'm Dean. Okay, Amy, this hotel? You might not have noticed, but it's underground. It sunk into this huge hole and the only thing left visible is the roof and a small hole leading outside. We can't stay here. If you want, take a few things you desperately need, but we can't stay. There are other people I need to lead out as well and I don't think they'll like waiting. So …"

"All right, all right!" Amy called out, looking at him desperately. "I get it. We have to get out."

"Yes."

"We're underground?"

"Yes."

She nodded and Dean could see the fear increasing in her eyes. He actually started considering just grabbing her, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her out, but she surprised him when she suddenly started moving.

With a few steps she walked passed him and out into the corridor.

"Great." Dean mumbled and quickly followed her out.

They walked up the stairs in silence, Amy walking in front of Dean. Her steps became slower and slower until eventually, she stopped completely a few inches in front of the ladder leading to the hole and out of the hotel.

"We're almost out. You think you can walk the last few steps on your own?" Dean asked impatiently, needing to get back downstairs and continuing looking for his family.

To his surprise, Amy shook her head and instead of walking towards the ladder, she took a hesitant step back down.

"What's the problem now?"

"I … I can't. I can't. I'm sorry." She slowly turned around and looked at him; the fear in her eyes seemed to have multiplied by a hundred fold. "I'm sorry."

"It's only a few more steps. I'll walk with you, okay?" Dean said, not understanding what was going on with her.

"Just get back downstairs. Go find Sam. Get him out." Tears were starting to role down her face and she quickly wiped them away. "Go find him before they do."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean looked at her confused.

"Just find him."

Dean wanted nothing more than that. But he had promised to bring her out and it seemed he had to walk her the whole way. "Not before you're safe. Let's go."

He took a few steps in her direction, holding his hand out for her to take, but Amy flinched away.

"You don't understand." She said, her voice trembling.

"I do. You're scared, I get that. And it's completely understandable under the circumstances."

"It's not that. Please, just go."

"I'll carry you out if I have to." Dean said stubbornly. He swore inwardly at his inability to just leave her here. It wasn't his problem if she didn't want to leave. Unfortunately, he had the tendency to care for things that weren't his problem. "I'm not leaving you here."

Amy cast him another desperate look. "I haven't left this hotel in nine years." She breathed out eventually.

Dean's jaw dropped. "Come again?"

"I … I'm afraid to go out."

"O-Okay. Uhm … you do know that, right now, it's safer outside than in here, right?"

"Yes."

"And you know the hotel could collapse any moment."

"Y-Yes."

"You could die."

"I know."

"But you still don't want to go out." Dean shook his head in frustration.

"For the past nine years, I wanted nothing more than to go out, every single moment of the day. But … I …" She looked at him helplessly.

"You're scared."

"Yes." She whispered.

"Okay." Dean breathed out. Images of him and Sam at an airport somewhere in Pennsylvania came to his mind. He could somehow relate to how she felt. "Okay, um, just … just relax. Stay calm. Take some deep breaths."

"What?" Amy stared at him exasperated.

Dean thought that was at least an improvement to her panicked look from before. "You know Metallica?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Just try not to think of … of whatever it is you're afraid of out there, okay?" Carefully he crossed the distance between them and reached for her hand, this time successfully taking it in his own. "I'm at your side the whole time."

Another tremble went through her body, but eventually Amy gave a short nod. Slowly, she took a step towards the ladder.

"You know, the funny thing is … I'm more afraid of what's down here than of what's out there." She said nervously.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Okay, we're almost there. How are you fee…"

Before he could finish his question, the stairs started shaking and the plaster was starting to rain down on them from the ceiling.

"Oh, come on!" Dean yelled angrily. He tightened his grip around Amy's hand and pulled her up the ladder. Ignoring her pull at his arms as she automatically fought to exit the building, he dragged her through the hole and onto the roof. As fast as he could, he ran over the roof with her, not stopping until he reached solid ground again. Hands grabbed him and pulled him farther away from the hole as a rumbling sound reached his ear. He could hear people screaming around him, Amy's voice clearly audible among them.

Eventually, the shaking stopped and Dean felt safe enough to get up from the ground. Slowly, he turned around. A shocked gasp escaped him when his eyes fell on the hole. The roof was gone – and so was their last entrance into the hotel.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N.: A huge thank you to ****Youngest Ones Rule for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing! **

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**Chapter 7**

Slowly Matt walked up to Dean, his eyes following the other man's line of sight. Shivers ran down his spine. No matter how often he looked at the hole in the ground, no matter how often he told himself what happened had to happen, it didn't take away from the horror he felt deep inside. This time, he knew some of the people trapped inside.

Karen, the waitress in the hotel's cafe who had brought him coffee was one. He had seen the wedding ring on her finger - one of the onlookers most likely was her husband, waiting for her to be rescued.

Nikki, the desk clerk who had started flirting with him the moment he had entered the hotel.

Ben in the room next to his, who he'd met in the elevator. Ben had told him that he was on a business trip, and that he couldn't wait to get home to his wife and three kids - his oldest was celebrating her seventh birthday next month. Ben had wanted to bring her something special.

Sam, whom he'd first noticed on the drive into town, sitting in the front seat of a black Chevy. Then later in the corridor of the hotel, clutching his head and collapsing on the floor. He was going to offer help, but then had turned around because there was just _something_ about that kid! Also, his brother seemed to have things under control. His brother, Dean, the guy he'd chosen to get to know better because he liked his _car_.

He had met all those people, knew them just well enough now to worry about them.

He had been stupid. He should have just gotten his room key; should have ignored Nikki's advances; should never have gone into that café. Most of all he should have stayed away from Dean - seeing the barely masked devastation in the man's eyes nearly destroyed him.

He should have never gotten this close to anyone.

He had known something was about to happen in this town; it was the only reason he was here in the first place. He had done this so often and never, _never _had he let people affect him like this. He had made the mistake of allowing himself to feel safe inside the hotel, believing nothing would happen there; because he hadn't _felt _anything. There had been no signs – nothing pointing at the hotel being the center of everything. He had felt nothing.

That alone should have warned him that something was wrong. There was always something - a black cloud hanging over the scene where it was going to happen. A dark shadow following the people about to die. The signs were always there, _always! _Since the day the pyres burned, he was drawn to death like a moth to a flame. It followed him or he followed it, he wasn't really sure. He didn't want to know, to be honest. He didn't want to live with the knowledge that his presence was in some way the cause for all these deaths. Not again …

Not for the first time he wished he had chosen to listen to his friend all these years ago. To let the people go and return home, leave the cursed crusade behind and never look back. He wouldn't have lived long afterwards; most likely he would have been arrested as a traitor and convicted to death. Yet, it would have been better than _this_. Seeing death at every corner; past, present and future – always death, no matter where he looked. Always condemned to watch, never able to help or prevent what was going to happen.

He had seen nothing since he came into this town though. Had he really believed it was over? That after hundreds of years the curse was suddenly broken? No, he hadn't been that naïve, not really. He had told himself Rosehill, Nebraska, was the most peaceful town he'd ever come to pass through. No violent death at every corner, no appending catastrophe waiting for him. Just a small town giving him a break from all the death and sorrow that followed him wherever he went.

He'd been an idiot.

Now it was too late to change it. He was right in the middle of things and he didn't know how to get out. Just walking away wasn't an option anymore.

Inhaling deeply, he walked the last few steps towards Dean.

"Hey, man, you okay?" He asked as he stopped next to him.

Dean cast him a side-ways glance, his eyes saying more than words ever could.

"Sorry, dumb question." Matt cleared his throat, wishing he had more experience in handling such a situation; it wasn't that he hadn't witnessed enough tragedies in his time – he had just never stayed long enough afterwards to care about the aftermath. Not in a very long time. "You want some coffee? That woman, Amy, she asked me to … well, she thought you might want some. She would have brought it out herself, but … you know …"

"Thanks." Dean replied hoarsely, his eyes never leaving the giant sinkhole. As if he expected his family to climb out of it at any moment.

The rescue workers were still trying to find a way back in, motivated now by the knowledge that three of their own men were trapped as well. So far they had come up empty. Every possible way in was either blocked or not stable enough for a rescue attempt.

"Any news?" Matt asked.

Dean exhaled frustrated as he turned an angry glare at him. "What are you still doing here, Matt? You came here alone. There's no one down there you need to worry about. Why don't you just leave?"

Matt was taken aback at Dean's outburst. "I thought you could use the company."

Dean puffed in response. "I don't even know you, dude. I couldn't care less about your company."

"Look, I'm just trying to help. I know you're worried about your family and ..."

"You don't know anything about my family. Just leave me alone." Dean hissed.

"Dean ..."

Dean didn't want to listen anymore. Taking one last look at the hole, he turned and quickly walked away from Matt.

---SPN---

"What are we going to do now?" Roberta asked.

She, John, Sam and Ben were standing in front of the collapsed stairs. For the last hour they had been trying to find a way up but eventually had to give up. It was impossible now to climb the stairs anymore.

"The rescue teams should find us eventually." Sam said. "We just need to wait and …"

"Since when has waiting ever helped us?" John interrupted his son with a growl.

Sam had to admit he had a point.

"There has to be something else, some other way …" Ben looked around, as if expecting a hidden staircase to show up out of nowhere.

"The tunnels!" Sam snapped his fingers. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"What tunnels?" John asked surprised.

"There are tunnels everywhere under this town and the surrounding area." Sam explained. "The desk clerk, Nikki, she told me about it. They were just recently discovered. They're probably the reason the hotel collapsed in the first place. The rain must have weakened their foundations and the ground eventually gave in."

"Makes sense." John nodded.

"No, it doesn't." Ben huffed. "There are no tunnels. I've lived in this town my whole life. If there were tunnels, I'd know about it."

"No, you wouldn't. They were just discovered when the ground under the car show gave in. No one knew about them before." Sam said.

"Dude, if you got that info from Nikki, most likely she just wanted to impress you to get you into bed." Ben replied.

Sam blushed. "Don't be stupid, why would she ..."

"Because she's Nikki! She flirts with every guy that crosses her path." Ben called out exasperated. "I want to get out of here, but that won't happen if we go on a goose chase after some fictitious tunnels."

"Dad." Sam turned to his father. "You've seen the sinkhole on the road and you know what happened at the show. The tunnels would explain all of this."

John nodded. "You're right. It's at least worth looking into." John looked around the area. "If we're lucky, we find an entrance on this floor. If not, we need to get lower."

"Lower?" Roberta called out shocked. "Are you insane?"

"Only as a last option." John replied calmly. "All right, this will go faster if we split up. Roberta, you and Ben check the rooms on the right, Sam and I take the left. Look carefully … if there's a way out of here, I want to find it."

"Don't we all?" Ben smirked. He still didn't look convinced.

"Dad, wouldn't it be better if one of them goes with one of us?" Sam suggested carefully.

Both Roberta and Ben looked at him surprised.

"Why?" Ben asked.

"It might be safer." Sam replied.

"I wouldn't exactly call anything about this situation safe, young man, no matter who's going with whom." Roberta cut in.

Sam ignored her and looked intently at his father. "Dad."

"We do as I said." John said sternly.

"The man has spoken, let's go." Ben said.

He was ready to turn away from them, but Sam held him back.

"Wait. Dad, you know I'm right." He went closer to his father and continued in a low voice, careful not to let the others hear what he was saying. "I don't know if my visions mean anything, but something might be wrong here. And we're both better equipped to handle this something than those two."

"You're hurt; you might not be able to help them at all." John said quietly.

"Come on, we're all hurt." Sam huffed. "Have you not noticed the gash on your forehead? Roberta can hardly walk as it is, debris or not, and Ben … well, I'm sure he's hurting somewhere as well."

"Neither of them was crushed by a huge rock." John replied, his voice sounding strangely hoarse.

"Oh come on, that's no reason, and you know it. We have no idea what …"

"There is no reason to argue, gentlemen." Roberta cut in. "I don't plan to walk around in this debris. I'm going to fall and break a hip – or worse!"

"I'm going with Ben then." Sam said quickly, before his father could respond.

John stared at him angrily. Sam returned the glare, daring his father to continue the argument.

"All right." John said, looking as if he was ready to explode. Before he walked away, he whispered in Sam's ear. "We talk about this when we're out."

"Promise?" Sam asked quietly.

John stopped in his tracks, looking startled at his son. For a moment, the anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by a flicker of warmth. "Promise. Now go find those tunnels. I don't want to keep your brother waiting."

"Already on our way." Sam smiled.

---SPN---

Dean didn't really know where he was supposed to go when he'd stormed away from Matt. He wasn't even angry at the man. He was angry at the whole situation and his inability to do anything. Matt had just come to him at the wrong moment.

Usually, Dean would go back and offer his apologies. Or not. Once they'd leave this town, he'd never see the guy again. So why bother? Either way, he didn't want to go back. He couldn't stand staring at this freaking hole any longer. He couldn't stand still anymore and do nothing.

His whole family, the only two people he had left, was buried in there. If he could he'd have dug them out with his own hands. He'd dug up so many dead corpses, but with the two living ones that counted? The two he might be able to save? He was condemned to do nothing but stand by and let others do the job.

Eventually he walked towards the diner across the street. He could use a beer right about now. He could also check on Amy; she had looked absolutely terrified when they had led her away from him. She hadn't been joking when she had said she was afraid to be outside. Not even the inside of the ambulance had felt safe enough for her, so eventually they'd brought her into the diner and gave her a quick medical check there.

When he entered the diner, he saw her sitting in the farthest corner away from the door – alone. Slowly he walked up to her.

"Hey." He said as he took a seat at her table.

"Hey." She smiled. Her hands were clutched tightly together; Dean could still see them shaking anyway.

"Thanks for the coffee." He said quietly.

"Any news?"

Dean shook his head.

They sat in silence together, both staring out the window. Dean tried not to think about anything, to block everything out for a while. Sleep would be good right about now, but he was too afraid to miss anything … to miss his chance to get Sam and his father back.

He couldn't stop thinking about the day's events, replaying them in his mind over and over again, thinking them through and trying to find something that he could have done differently.

He could have told Sam to meet him somewhere outside the hotel.

He could have called Sam himself, just a few minutes earlier, and convinced him to come out.

He could have taken another road to Lincoln.

He could have refused to leave the hotel, let someone else get Amy out.

He should have never left Sam alone.

There were so many things he could've or should've done differently. But there was nothing he could do now.

Then he remembered.

With a frown he looked at Amy. "What did you mean when you said I should find Sam before they do?"

Amy paled – something Dean didn't think was possible considering her pallor. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but then changed her mind about it.

"Amy?" Dean urged her to reply.

She shook her head. "It's … it was nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" Dean wanted nothing more than to leave it at that. Nothing was good. Nothing meant that the only danger his family had to face was a collapsed hotel. The problem was that nothing usually was _something_ in his job. "How do you even know Sam?"

"He invited me for a coffee. We talked." Amy said absentmindedly. "He's nice."

"Yeah, he is." Dean looked at her urgently. "You said you haven't left the hotel for nine years. Did something happen back then?"

When he saw her tense up, he knew he was on the right path.

"You know, I have seen some pretty weird stuff in my life. There isn't much you can surprise me with." He said.

"You have no idea." Amy sighed.

"Let me guess … you've seen something that no one in their right mind is going to believe. Something that scared you so much that you're afraid, really afraid to ever leave the house again." He paused a moment. "Something that might now be threatening my family."

_If they're still alive. _

He could see the hesitance in Amy's eyes. She wanted to share her story, but was afraid he would call her nuts.

"I killed a werewolf when I was sixteen. It was pretty cool." He said with a grin. He didn't think she would believe him, but hoped it might break the ice.

"Really?" She asked with a raised brow. It was obvious she thought he was joking.

"I'm one of those people that believe pretty much anything you have to tell. Except if it's about aliens. I don't do aliens." Years of experience made it easy for Dean to talk in this light tone while deep inside he wanted to scream out his frustration over not being able to do anything.

"It's not aliens." She gave him a smile that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "What I've seen … I told people … My own parents sent me to a mental institution afterwards. I stayed there for over a year."

"Must have been some story." Dean said.

"Yeah …" She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and then made up her mind. "I was on a date … ten years ago. With Brian Campell, he was the new guy in school and the man of my dreams … at least that's what I thought back then. We went to the lake to … enjoy the view."

"Sure." Dean grinned.

She smiled, but it vanished as quickly again. "There are tunnels under the town. I don't know how he found them. No one seems to know about them. I grew up here and I never heard of them. He wanted to show them to me, but I wasn't really interested in crawling around in them in the middle of the night. So, I left and he stayed." She paused for a moment and Dean knew that the interesting part was about to come. "I'd walked maybe 500 feet when I heard him screaming. I ran back, but he was gone." She ran her hand through her hair nervously; Dean could see how difficult it was for her to talk about this. "His flashlight lay on the ground. I picked it up and went into the tunnels. It was the most stupid thing I've ever done."

"I would call it pretty courageous." Dean said quietly.

Amy shrugged in response.

"What happened next?"

"I found him. I'd been searching for him for about an hour and then … I found him."

"Was he still alive?"

Amy laughed bitter. "Alive, yes. Though I wouldn't say that was a good thing."

"That bad, huh?" Dean smirked.

Amy looked at him surprised.

"I told you I've seen a lot." He shrugged. "What did you see?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Helplessly, she looked at Dean.

"Amy, if the tunnels go under the hotel, then whatever got to Brian back then might go after whoever is still trapped down there now as well. You need to tell me."

And she did. When she was done, Dean ran out of the diner and to the Impala, fetching his phone to call the one person close enough to be able to help him.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N.: Many, many thanks to ****Youngest Ones Rule for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing!  
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**Chapter 8**

Impatiently, Dean waited for the other hunter to pick up his phone. After the sixth ring his call was finally answered.

"Caleb, I need your help."

"Dean? What's wrong? Where are you?" Caleb Reaves, seasoned hunter and one of the few friends John Winchester hadn't scared off yet, asked worried. He knew that the Winchesters had been held in a town due to the blocked road, but the last time he had talked to John, everything had been all right. Dean's tone of voice told him otherwise now.

"We're still in Rosehill. Dad and Sam are trapped." Dean quickly explained to Caleb what had happened.

"Oh man, that's … I'm sorry, Dean." Caleb said; his voice filled with grief.

Dean wanted to punch him. "They're not dead yet, Reaves."

"No, of course not." Caleb replied quickly. "You read about it all the time. They dig out people days after they've been trapped and they're still alive. They survive on rain water and ..."

"Dude, shut up and listen!" Dean interrupted him irritated. "There's something else."

"Something?" Caleb asked and the tone of his voice told Dean he was back to full hunter mode. _Something _almost never meant anything good in their world.

"There's this woman, she works ... worked at the hotel. A few years ago she followed some guy into these tunnels that are everywhere under the town, only apparently no one knows about them. The guy gets snatched by some dwarf-like creatures, gets pinned to a cross and tubes stuck in his skin. That's all she saw before she ran." Dean finished what Amy had told him earlier.

"She's a lucky girl." Caleb said thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Sam also found out people have been disappearing in the area; it could be connected." Dean went on, swallowing down the guilt over not really caring before about what his brother had told him. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but she seems legit. I believe her."

"So do I." Caleb said without hesitation.

Dean stared at his phone. Caleb Reaves usually didn't believe anything without doing tons of research on the matter – for a hunter he was a pretty big skeptic.

"Okay, good." Dean eventually said. "Have you heard of this before?"

"I have, yes. My old man took care of something like it years ago. I thought he got them all, but some must have gotten away. Or maybe it's another tribe. I didn't know it was still going on. Damn!"

Dean heard something being punched through the phone. "Caleb?"

"This has been going on right in my neighborhood and I didn't notice. How many people have disappeared in the last twenty years?"

"You'll have to ask Sammy. He never got around to telling me." Again the guilt welled up in Dean. "What do you know?"

"They're called Redcaps and they do look like dwarfs. They first appeared in England in medieval times, living in old ..."

"I don't need a history lesson, Reaves. How do I kill them?"

"Legend has it that you have to remove their hats. They color it with human blood and it's supposed to give them magic strength and ..."

"Caleb!"

"Beheading." Caleb answered quickly. "You chop off their heads and they're gone. With or without their bloody caps."

"Sounds easy enough." Dean said relieved. After fending off a bunch of vampires the other week, dwarves shouldn't be a problem.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. They're fast… And strong. There's a pretty good chance they get to you before you even see them." Caleb warned him.

Dean stayed quiet for a moment. "I'll have to try, Caleb."

"Yeah, I know. Listen, don't go into the tunnels alone. I can be with you in three, four hours. Six tops, if the roads are still blocked … I'll find a way." He added.

Dean shook his head, even though Caleb couldn't see it. "I can't wait that long, Caleb. They might not have that long."

This time it was Caleb who stayed quiet for a moment. "Okay, fine." He sighed. "There is a spell you could use."

Dean raised a brow. "A spell for what?"

"To get rid of the Redcaps, what else?" Caleb replied irritated.

Again Dean felt the urge to punch him. "And you mention this just now? _After_ the beheading?"

Caleb shrugged. "You know me. I don't think too much of all this magic mumbo jumbo. But I know your Dad taught you enough about it, so if you wanna try …"

"Yeah, I wanna try. Tell me what I need …"

---SPN---

"So, your Dad … he seems to know what he's doing." Ben said.

"Ex-Marine." Sam replied. That usually explained everything.

Ben nodded knowingly. "My uncle was in the Marines too."

"Really." Sam let the flashlight roam the room they were in, looking for anything that might look like an entrance to the tunnels.

"You two don't get along too well, do you?"

Sam raised a brow, but refrained from replying.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry … I had issues with my dad too." Ben said thoughtfully.

"Uh huh …" Sam knocked on a wall, hoping to find something. He didn't.

"I can understand you didn't want to go with him. You need to get away from your parents, even in situations like these." Ben went on.

Sam sighed. "That's not … whatever." He waved his hand through the air and turned to leave the room. They weren't going to find a tunnel in here. "Let's check the next room."

A crashing sound from the other side of the hall made him stop in his tracks.

"What now!" He groaned. "Dad?"

When he didn't get a reply, he started limping down the hall as fast as he could, cursing his injuries which made it impossible to run. "Dad!"

He heard Ben coming along behind him, stumbling over the debris, now that Sam wasn't there to light the way for him.

"Dad? Whoa!" Sam saw the hole at the last second, coming to a sudden stop just in front of the edge. His arms flailed in the air as he tried to keep his balance. A hand pulled him back, keeping him from falling down.

"You okay?" Ben's worried voice asked from behind.

Sam didn't hear him. He leaned forward again and let the beam of the flashlight brighten the hole, searching the ground for his father. "Dad?"

"I'm here." A familiar growl answered from the darkness.

"You all right?"

"I'm fine." John groaned. Slowly, he pulled himself to a sitting position.

"I'm coming down." Sam said, already trying to find a way down.

"Where's Roberta?" Ben suddenly asked.

Sam turned to him, wincing at the movement. Running hadn't helped with his ribs. Passing out would be great right about now, but he couldn't afford that luxury. Gritting his teeth, he forced the pain to the back of his mind, hoping he could ignore it long enough for them to find a way out of here.

"Shouldn't we have passed her on the way here?" Ben went on, looking worried at him.

"Damn." Sam cursed. "Roberta?" He called loudly.

No reply.

Sam searched the hall with the flashlight, but there was no sign of the older woman. "Where the hell did she go?"

"Sam, what's going on?" John called from downstairs.

"She's gone, Dad. Roberta …" Sam looked down at his father, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

"I think I heard her screaming, right before the ground gave out." John said. "I found the tunnels!"

"Screaming?" Sam asked.

"The tunnels?" Ben cut in.

"Sam, check the area, maybe I'm not the only one who fell."

Sam nodded and immediately started to search.

"What about me?" Ben asked.

"You help me out." John growled.

Five minutes later John had crawled out of the hole and Sam had finished his search.

"She's gone. This is all I found." He said, holding up a single shoe. "Could it be hers? I didn't find any…" He cleared his throat, looking clearly uncomfortable. "… anyone it could belong to."

"Yeah, you'd think there would be more bodies down here." John said thoughtfully.

"Maybe there were and now they're gone." Sam added gloomily. "Like Roberta."

"That's insane, people just don't disappear like that." Ben called out. He held out his hand. "Give me the flashlight, I'll look again."

Sam and John exchanged a glance.

"We all look, together." John said. "Room for room. If she's still here, we'll find her."

"Of course she's still here." Ben said. "There's no where to go!"

Both John and Sam's eyes immediately went down the hole and to the tunnels hiding in the darkness.

"You always _have _to be right, don't you?" John grumbled.

---SPN---

"Damn it!" Chris Adams cursed as half the wall came down in front of him. Quickly, he jumped back, barely escaping the falling debris. He had been trying to find a way upstairs – with little luck.

"You're gonna get yourself killed, Chris." Stan said quietly. He sat a few feet away, massaging his bruised ankle. He had tripped and lost his footing when the stairs had collapsed. Chris had then ordered him to sit down and not get up until they found a way out – leaving the work to himself and Eddie.

"We'll get killed the longer we stay here. You know this building isn't gonna hold forever." Chris argued.

"The others will find a way to get us out."

"Who knows if they're even still looking." Chris sighed, giving the wall of debris a last frustrated glance before he joined Stan on the ground. "Where's Eddie? It can't take that long to check the rooms for survivors."

"Knowing Eddie, he already started digging his way out through one of the windows." Stan grinned.

Chris laughed. "Yeah, sounds like him. Still … I better go look for him."

"Do that." Stan sighed. "I'll wait here for you."

Ten minutes later Chris returned, a worried expression on his face. "I can't find him."

"What? That can't be." Stan replied astounded. "He has to be here somewhere."

"He's not." Chris shook his head. "I don't get it. There's no way out. God knows we checked everything!"

"Let's check again." Stan said. With the help of Chris, he got up from the floor and together they started the search for their co-worker and friend.

---SPN---

Despite their combined search, Sam, John and Ben weren't able to find Roberta. After searching everything twice, they finally had to give up.

"I don't get this." Ben said for the hundredth time. "Where is she? It's like she just disappeared into nothing."

"Wherever she is, we don't have the time to search for her any longer." John said gloomily.

Sam could see how much his father hated having to say it. He felt the same. They usually didn't just abandon someone and left.

As it were though, they had no other choice. They didn't know how long the building would stand and neither of them wanted to be here when it fully collapsed.

Together, they climbed down the hole where John had found an entrance to the tunnels. Sam needed his father's help as his broken ribs protested against the extra strain. When his feet hit the ground, his vision blurred and he was breathing heavily, every breath sending spikes of pain through his body. His father's hands steadying him were the only thing keeping him up.

"Just breath through it, Sammy." His father said calmly.

Sam did, despite the pain, and after a few moments his vision cleared and the pain subsided. He hoped dearly they wouldn't have to do much more climbing before getting out.

"I'll be damned." Ben said as he stared at the tunnel. "You were right."

Sam gave him a pointed look, but refrained from replying. John couldn't help but grin – he had seen this look too many times; it was nice not having it directed his way.

"You okay?" He asked, motioning at his son's ribs.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam replied.

"Good. Here." John handed him a gun, then turned to Ben. "You know how to handle these?"

"Y-yeah … why?" Ben asked confused.

"Just in case. Anything comes near you, shoot."

Sam shook his head in astonishment. "How many of those do you carry?"

"Not enough." John growled. "Let's go."

John went ahead and climbed through the hole. Sam went to follow him, but Ben held him back.

"Who does he think we're going to run into in there?" He asked worried.

"Not who … what. Don't worry …" Sam tried to calm him. "It's just a precaution. As long as we don't know what happened to Roberta, it can't hurt to be careful.

Ben looked doubtfully at the weapon in his hand. "What if I miss?"

Sam shrugged. "You keep shooting." With that, he turned and followed his father into the tunnel.

---SPN---

They had walked through the tunnel for almost half an hour when they reached a crossing – and found something.

"There!" John pointed at something on the ground. "A trail, it looks like someone was dragged."

"Roberta." Ben whispered.

Sam narrowed his eyes as he tried to recognize the trail his father was pointing at. He saw several small foot steps next to it – too small for grown men.

"What do you think?" He asked.

"I don't like it. Let's go."

They had no trouble following the trail. After a while, Sam was convinced that they had to be close. He could smell the scent of blood everywhere and the ground was scattered with bones.

"What do you think is going on here?" Sam asked quietly.

John shrugged. "Hard to say with nothing to go on."

Sam raised a brow. "I'd say tunnels filled with bones is something. A Wendigo's lair maybe?"

John frowned at his son. "What bones?"

"They're everywhere." Sam replied, slightly confused. It wasn't like his father to miss such details. "You pointed the flashlight at them several times."

John searched the ground more thoroughly as the flashlight danced around in the darkness.

"See?" Sam pointed at a spot near the wall. "It looks like a human skull."

John stared at the spot the flashlight lighted. "Sam, there's nothing but dirt."

"But, its right …" Realization hit him and Sam closed his eyes for a moment, groaning. "It's happening again." He cast a desperate glance at his father. "Dad …"

John grabbed his son's arm at the same time as a blinding pain exploded in Sam's skull. Doubling over, he pressed his fists against his temples, his legs sagging away. He was barely aware that he was lowered to the ground and propped up against a wall.

"Sam? Sam!"

"What's wrong with him?"

Sam blinked, trying to look through the haze that obscured his vision. He saw a blurry version of his father in front of him, saw his lips moving, but he couldn't hear his voice, let alone understand the words he was saying. He felt his father's hands on his arms, stroking his head, running his fingers through his hair and around his face. He tried to focus on what was real – his father, his father was. Not the blood he could still smell or the bones that lay scattered on the floor. He kept his eyes focused on his father's face, forcing his eyes to stay open even though the little bit of light the flashlight offered made the pain in his head even worse. He concentrated on the words his father was saying and at some point they were starting to make sense.

"That's it, Sammy. Breathe through the pain."

Sam nodded, wincing at the small motion. He tried to follow his father's order. It had worked before. Breathe … he could do that. He just had to keep breathing.

While he concentrated on filling his lungs with air, he could swear he heard footsteps coming closer, but over the rushing in his ears it was hard to tell if it was real. A wave of nausea rolled over him and he struggled hard to stay conscious, trying to stay focused on his father.

And then the hands that had been holding him upright were gone and Sam felt the world tilting to the side, his shoulder hitting the ground. He wanted to call for his father, but couldn't find the right words. It seemed almost impossible to even have a clear thought.

Even through the foggy haze in his brain though, he recognized the gunshots that suddenly rang loudly in his ears. He tried to force himself to get up, but he hadn't even lifted his head more than an inch, when his whole body exploded in pain. He felt blows coming down on him, hard and painful, over and over again. He raised his arms to protect his head, not able to do anything to defend himself.

In less than a minute, unconsciousness claimed him and he succumbed to the darkness, almost grateful to escape the pain.

TBC

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**A.N.: I owe a big thank you to Ridley C. James for letting me use "her" Caleb's last name. I read many of her Brotherhood stories and ever since then I think of Caleb as Caleb _Reaves_. I wanted him to be a part of this story (albeit a small one) and she kindly allowed me to use the name she came up with. (If you haven't read her stories, you should. They're amazing!)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N.: Many, many thanks to ****Youngest Ones Rule for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing!**

**

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**

**Chapter 9**

Stan and Chris had searched every room, but there was no sign of their friend and co-worker.

"I don't get this. Where is he?" Chris called out frustrated. "I swear, if this is some kind of sick joke, I'm gonna kill him."

"Eddie wouldn't play around in a situation like this." Stan said calmly. "Maybe he … Hey, what …? Chris, look at this!" Stan pointed at the wall across from where he was standing, lighting it with his flashlight.

"What is it?" Chris asked. A moment later he had his answer.

Astounded, he and Stan stared at a hole in the wall; a hole leading into a tunnel.

"Where in God's name is that tunnel coming from?" Chris muttered confused. "There are no tunnels under Rosehill."

"So we thought." Stan replied thoughtfully. "There have been rumors …"

"You think Eddie went in there?" Chris asked.

"Without telling us about it?" Stan scratched his head. This didn't sound like the man he knew.

"But where is he then?" Chris looked inside the tunnel. "Eddie is nowhere on this floor. This might be a way out. Maybe he went in to inspect it, make sure it was safe. Something might have happened …"

"He could be in there." Stan held his head inside the hole and called loudly. "Eddie? EDDIE?!"

The echo of his voice was the only reply.

"He could be hurt." Chris said quietly.

Stan nodded. "Okay, let's check it out."

---SPN---

He couldn't breathe. His lungs were burning, desperate to take in air. Lights were dancing in front of his eyes; he could hear his heart pounding in the darkness and the blood rushing in his ears. Something weighty was pressing him down; he tried to push it away, but it wouldn't move.

Breathe … he needed to breathe!

He tried to think, find an explanation for what was happening, but his mind felt thick and heavy and everything was in a haze. He tried to move, to find a way out, but his muscles felt tight and ached from the effort to escape. He was unable to fight what was holding him down.

He couldn't breathe and he couldn't get out!

Feeling an overwhelming, all consuming panic, he couldn't take it anymore. He opened his mouth, wanting to scream for help, but no sound ensued. Instead he felt dirt rushing down his windpipe, into his lungs …

With a start, Sam woke up, gasping for air – a wave of relief rushed through him when he felt his lungs fill with the desperately needed oxygen. Inhaling deeply, his body slowly relaxed, reveling in the air as it coursed into his parched lungs. His hands went to his chest and stomach, searching for anything that might still hold him down, but there was nothing.

Just a dream… It had just been a bad dream.

He groaned as a pounding headache made itself known. Leaning back on the ground, Sam closed his eyes again.

Despite the nightmare, he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. Shivers ran down his spine. He was cold, stiff, sick and he was hurting all over. Sleep would get him away from all this, at least for a while.

"Sam?" His father's voice pulled him back to awareness.

Groaning, Sam took another deep breath and forced his eyes open. He slowly turned in the direction of his father's voice. He blinked confusedly when he saw John sitting in a wooden cage, blood smears on his face. It took Sam a moment longer to realize that he was trapped in a cage as well.

"You okay?" John asked; relief and worry shining in his eyes.

"I'm good." Sam replied, not sounding very convincing. He looked at his surroundings, trying to find out where they were. Not a motel room, that was for sure. Where had he been last? The motel, and then …

It all came back suddenly, the memories flooding through his mind. "Oh shit …" He groaned.

"How's the head?"

Right, his head. Sam's hand went to his temple, massaging it slightly. He had suffered another vision; or not a vision, something else. He was experiencing something different from what normally plagued him, first the vision then pain.

It was all wrong and it didn't make any sense.

"Sam?"

He looked up at his father, forcing his thoughts to stop being such a mess.

"What?" He asked, not sure what the question had been.

"Your head, how are you feeling?"

"I've been better." Sam swallowed. "How are you?" He asked in return, remembering the blood on his father's face.

"I've been better." John smirked, a small smile playing on his lips.

Sam returned the smile automatically. This didn't happen often, his father smiling. He didn't think he had smiled once since they had met up in Manning. Except the time they had talked about having spent his college fund on ammo. They had both smiled then. He was living a strange live.

"Sam?"

"Yes. Sorry." Sam swallowed, forcing himself to stay focused on the matter at hand. He took a few deep breaths until he was certain he could concentrate long enough to hold a whole conversation – and understand it at the same time. "What happened?" He asked. He had absolutely no recollection. The last thing he remembered was the pain in his head and his father holding him. For some reason the pain had then spread to his whole body, as if he was being punched all over, and then .. nothing.

"We were caught by dwarfs." John growled, clearly not happy.

Sam was sure he must have misunderstood. "Dwarfs?"

"Dwarfs."

Sam raised a brow. "Come on. Dwarfs?" He looked intently at his father, but John didn't look like he was joking. "Dwarfs?" He repeated. "Really?"

"There were at least a dozen of them." John explained. "And they're fast! I couldn't even get a good shot at one of them before they had me." John said.

Sam still couldn't believe it. "But … dwarfs? I mean, they're … small. And … really? You got caught by dwarfs?"

"_We_ got caught by dwarfs, son." John pointed out in a low voice. "And they're not your average, Snow White nice little dwarfs. These things are strong. And apparently they like blood."

"Human blood?" Sam asked carefully, hoping the answer would be no. Of course he knew he wouldn't really be that lucky.

"What do you think?" John pointed at the other side of the room.

Following the line of his father's finger, Sam saw Ben – pinned to the wall, his arms and legs strapped to a wooden cross. His whole body was covered with deep cuts, tubes sticking out of his skin, blood running through them and collecting into a wooden tank.

"He's unconscious, which is probably better for him." John went on grimly. "They've already … tasted him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked horrified. Again, he didn't really want to know.

John simply pointed at Ben again and upon closer observation Sam saw that a huge part of his jeans had been ripped off and … part of his flesh as well.

"Oh god, please don't tell me …" He was pretty sure he was going to be sick.

"You slept through the best part." John sighed frustrated.

Sam could sympathize with him. Having to watch those things "tasting" from Ben and not be able to do anything must have been pure horror. Just thinking about it made him want to throw up.

"Roberta is here too." John whispered. He pointed at the other side of the room.

Sam saw the older woman, hanging from a cross, just like Ben. The only exception was that there was no blood running through the tubes anymore. He swallowed. "Is she dead?"

"It must have gone quick." John replied in a hoarse voice.

"Any idea how we can get out of here?" Sam asked after a moment. He turned toward his father, avoiding the sight of Ben and Roberta. This was more than he could take at the moment.

"I already tried to break the bars, but they won't budge. Same with the lock." John replied gloomily.

"Great." Feeling the urge to do something, Sam rattled the bars, but just like his father, he didn't have any luck. "Where are they anyway?" He eventually asked.

The wide torch-lit chamber they were held in was empty except for the four full-sized humans. No dwarf could be seen anywhere.

"Probably looking for other people. Who knows how many others are trapped inside the hotel."

"We have to warn them." Feeling the urge to do something increase within him and ignoring his own pain, Sam once more tried the bars. This was what they did. Save people - they couldn't just sit here and do nothing, letting others get caught and probably end up like Ben and Roberta had.

"That won't help, Sam." John said calmly.

"We have to do something. There has to be a way out of here." Sam looked around the room, trying to find something he could use to break the lock, but there was nothing in the vicinity he could reach.

"Sam!" John raised his voice, ordering his son to listen.

Sam automatically went still and looked at his father.

"I have a plan." John said quietly.

"Okay." Sam exhaled deeply. A plan sounded good. He should have known his father had already figured out a way out of here. "What plan?"

"They're going to take one of us out eventually. We surprise them with an attack; they're probably not used to their prey fighting back like we can."

Sam waited a moment, but his father didn't go on. "That's it?" He eventually asked exasperated.

"You have a better idea?" John asked with a raised brow.

Sam thought about it, but had to admit that he couldn't think of anything else either. "Maybe Dean will find us before they come back." He said weakly.

He didn't need his father's response to know how lame he'd just sounded.

"Okay, so we wait." He sighed. "What about Ben?"

John swallowed. "There's not much we can do to help him."

Sam stayed silent, his eyes going back to the other man. He couldn't see if he was still breathing. He hated this. All they could do was wait and watch as he slowly bled to death.

After several minutes of staring at Ben, trying to see if he was still breathing, still alive, Sam couldn't take it anymore. He turned his head to the opposite wall … only to meet the exact same sight. A man, strapped to a cross, blood running down his body from several wounds, tubes sticking out of his skin – most likely dead. Slowly Sam let his eyes roam around the room and he now saw them everywhere. There were at least ten of them, men and women, some looking more dead than others. The scent of blood and decay reached him and he couldn't help but retch as the scent sent his stomach churning.

"Sam?" John asked alarmed. "What's wrong?"

Sam wanted to reply, but at that moment the pain came back with full force. He grabbed at the bars, holding onto them as if that would make the pain any less. Black dots danced in front of his eyes, but he refused to give in. He couldn't black out now, no matter how much his head felt like exploding. If the dwarves came back now, he wouldn't be able to fight and he wasn't going to be the helpless victim again. He wouldn't just let them drag him out and bind him to a cross. Before he'd wake up again, they'd have half of his blood and he would never be able to fight back. That wasn't going to happen!

He tightened his grip on the bars, letting the hard wood cut into his palms until finally, the pain subsided. Breathing heavily, Sam let his head rest against the bars, his shoulders sagging.

"Sam?" His father's worried voice reached him as through a haze.

"I'm o… " Another wave of nausea rolled over him and Sam threw up the meager contents of his stomach.

Once the retching had stopped, he crawled back to the other end of the cage, breathing heavily, still having the taste of bile in his mouth. He was starting to fear this was turning into a bad habit. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he glanced at his father. "Sorry."

"You okay?"

Sam made a short assessment of his body before he replied. He felt worse than before. The trembling had increased, he felt cold, sick, and weak. Everything, without exception, hurt, most of all his head, which made thinking clearly a difficult task.

"No." He shook his head and immediately regretted it. The pounding returned with a vengeance and for a moment he feared he would throw up again.

"You had another vision?" John asked carefully.

"Yeah. " Sam replied weakly. "I saw others. Like Ben. They were everywhere. And … it was just … not good." He choked on the words, not really able to describe what he had seen. "Why am I seeing all this? It doesn't make any sense!" He hit the bars with his fist, hurting himself more than doing any actual damage to the wood, but welcoming the pain as a meaning to focus.

"We'll figure it out, Sammy. First, we need to concentrate on getting out of here."

Sam nodded, still shaking all over from the cold and his last vision. They were taking more and more of his strength and he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

---SPN---

"Verbascum … there's got to be some freaking verbascum in here." Dean mumbled as he fervently searched the Impala's trunk for the last ingredient he needed to cast the spell. "What good is having a geek brother when he doesn't even keep the frigging herb collection up to date. Damn it!"

"You looking for something?"

Startled, Dean swirled around when he heard Matt's voice behind him. Exhaling deeply, he looked at the other man. "You don't happen to carry verbascum around with you, do you?"

Matt cocked an eyebrow at him. "No, I don't, but I know how to get some."

"Really?" Dean looked at him in surprise.

"Really. You care to tell me what you need it for?"

Dean hesitated a moment. "You wouldn't believe me if I tell you I need it to kill off a few murdering dwarves, would you?"

"Murdering dwarves, huh?" Matt sighed. "Well, I've run into worse." He looked intently at Dean for a moment. "You're a hunter, aren't you?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Are you?"

"Me?" He laughed. "No, far from it. But I ran into some of you during my time."

"Really." Dean raised a brow. "One of them ever tried to kill you?"

"Some of them." Matt grinned. "But as you can see, I'm still here."

Dean bit his lip as he contemplated whether to trust Matt or not.

"Look, Dean, I can't explain why, but I'm here to help you. I'll get you the verbascum and I can do the spell for you. I've had a lot of practice with these kind of things during my time." He looked poignantly at Dean. "There _is_ a reason these hunters were after me."

"Are you a demon?" Dean asked tight-lipped.

Matt laughed out loud; it sounded almost bitter. "No, I'm not." He shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know what I am. I've been wandering this earth for so long … Maybe someone has come up with a name for someone like me; if so, I was never told. I'm just _me_." He looked intently at Dean. "Listen, in my life, I have seen so much … and it never stops. This one time, I'd like to do something more than just watch."

Dean didn't know what to think. You didn't work with something _not _normal. You didn't trust some supernatural freak offering his help. That's what his father had taught them, had drilled into them. Everything supernatural was evil. And everything evil you hunt down and kill.

Things had changed though, hadn't they? Sam … Sam was having visions. That wasn't normal. It wasn't evil either. Because Sam was a lot of things, but he couldn't be more far from being evil. He trusted Sam implicitly. Hell, since his father just took off, Sam was the one person Dean trusted most in his life.

Maybe it was okay to trust Matt too. Just this once.

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay." Matt smiled. "Let's do it."

---SPN---

"I would give my right hand for a glass of water." Sam groaned.

"Yeah, me too." John sighed.

They had been waiting for over an hour for the dwarves to come back, but there had been no sign of them.

"What do you think they're doing with the blood?" Sam asked. "Drink it?"

John shook his head. "I don't think so. I got a pretty close look at them; I think they use it to dye their caps."

"You're kidding." Sam gasped. "That's … that's sick!"

"In this world, there isn't much that can still surprise me." John shrugged.

"Have you ever heard of these things before? Murdering dwarves living in tunnels?"

John scoffed. "No, not that I can remember. I didn't even think dwarves where …" He stopped mid-sentence; straightening up, he looked intently across the room.

"What is it?" Sam whispered.

"I think they're coming back."

Anxiously, Sam and John stared at the only entrance leading into the small chamber they were in. Steps echoed through the tunnel, coming slowly closer. Sam cast a short glance at his father; he looked ready to jump at anything that dared to come close enough.

Taking a deep breath, Sam readied himself to do the same.

A long shadow fell on the floor; a moment later two men stepped into the chamber.

"I'll be damned." John muttered.

"What the hell?" Stan Mathers called out. "Who did this to you?"

He and Chris quickly hurried toward the Winchesters, immediately trying to open the lock. They had tools and it only took them a few moments before they had freed Sam and John.

"Thanks." John said. "Now let's get out of here."

"Wait, what is going on here? Who put you in there?" Stan insisted.

"Not who, what." John replied curtly, his eyes already searching the room for anything that could be used as a weapon.

"What?" Chris stared at him dumbfounded.

"Long story." Sam said. He shared a quick glance with his father, then went over to Ben. One quick check of his pulse told him he was dead. "Damn!" He cursed silently, punching his fist against the wall.

"Oh my God." Stan and Chris had now seen Ben too and stared terrified at his body. "Is he …?"

"Dead, yeah." Sam confirmed.

"They were nice enough to leave our guns." John pointed at a table at the far side of the room, as far away from the cages as the chamber's size allowed. "Probably didn't even know what it was."

"That's something." Sam said quietly.

"What is going on here? Who does something like this?" Stan demanded to know. He and Chris had now spotted Roberta as well and stared horrified at her.

"Nothing you want to run into unarmed." John growled. "Hold on to your tools, they might come in … shit!"

Several footsteps were heard in the tunnel, coming quickly closer.

"They're coming." Sam whispered.

"They? Who are _they_?" Chris asked.

"Sam, you ready?"

"Sam? You're Sam?" Stan asked surprised.

"Yeah, why?" Both Sam and John looked at the older man suspiciously.

"I don't believe this." Stan shook his head in astonishment. "Your brother is looking for you. He's one hell of a stubborn bastard."

Sam huffed. "That he is. Where did you …"

"Hey, we don't have time for this!" John interrupted them.

Sam nodded, hoping that no vision would come into the way this time. Ready to fight, he held up his gun; following his father's example, he stepped in front of Stan and Chris.

"What is this? Who's coming?" Stan asked.

He got his answer when the dwarves came running into the chamber.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N.: Many, many thanks to ****Youngest Ones Rule for beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing! You guys are great! **

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**Chapter 10**

Matt had found an old abandoned house where they could perform the ritual. Dean had been reluctant at first to agree on the place. He didn't trust Matt enough to follow him into an empty, dilapidated house. They were running out of time though – that's how Dean felt anyway. He didn't know in what kind of situation Sam and his father were. If they were alive, hurt, still in the hotel or somewhere in the tunnels, either trying to find a way out or trapped by the Redcaps. He didn't know how much time they had left, if any. He just knew he felt a sense of urgency.

That's why he had eventually agreed. They had drawn a magic circle on the wooden floor in what must have been the former living room and Matt started reciting the spell.

„Ad unde venerunt, fertote nunc. Evanescant verba, abite potentiae. Ad unde venerunt …" Matt sat inside the circle, quietly speaking the spell's words.

His voice sounded almost mesmerizing and Dean had to force himself to not listen too closely. Instead he concentrated on his surroundings, listening for any signs that someone might disturb them. No one came.

A few minutes after they started the ritual, a wind suddenly blew through the room, blowing out the candles. It was followed by some kind of energy wave that threw both Matt and Dean to the ground.

Groaning, Dean picked himself up from the floor as soon as the wind had died down. "Did it work?"

Matt nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think it has."

"You think?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"We'll know for sure when we go into the tunnels."

"We? Look…"

"You think I'm letting you go alone? I'm a part of this now, Dean, whether you like it or not." Matt said determinedly.

Dean didn't like it. He hated taking strangers with him on a hunt, no matter what the circumstances. This wasn't a normal hunt though and should the spell for whatever reason not be working, then he could use some backup – and Matt was all the backup he had available at the moment. "Fine. You ever used a gun?"

---SPN---

They came fast, one after the other, angry screams accompanying their attacks from the moment they noticed their prey were free.

John and Sam stood back to back, rapidly firing their weapons at the dwarves. Every bullet was a hit, but it didn't stop the miniature aggressors. They just kept coming, throwing themselves at their victims and striking the humans with their pikes.

Chris was the first to go down. He put up a hell of a fight, but it didn't take long until the dwarves had him and dragged him to one of the cages. Stan followed soon after.

"Keep shooting, Sam!" John shouted.

John was the first to run out of ammunition. The moment his gun stopped firing, the dwarves were on him, pushing him away from Sam and throwing him to the ground.

"Dad!" Sam called for his father. He retreated until his back hit the wall, all the while firing at the dwarves – until he himself ran out of ammunition as well. He grabbed a torch from the wall and used it to fend of the dwarves, causing some serious burns on them – some even caught fire when the flames touched their clothes.

"Burn in hell, you bastards!" He screamed.

Sam was able to hold the dwarves at bay for a few moments, but knew from the moment his gun had emptied he wouldn't hold them off much longer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father being surrounded; John had managed to get up again, but Sam doubted he'd be able to hold up much longer. One dwarf was clinging to his back, his teeth biting into his neck; another was hanging on his legs. Several others kept pummeling their pikes at John as he was busy getting rid of the two clinging to him.

Sam tried fighting his way to his father, when a red-hot pain spread through his leg. As he cried out in pain, his leg gave in and he stumbled to the ground. Three dwarves immediately threw themselves at him, their pikes hitting him all over his body. He curled up into a fetal position, trying desperately to protect his body. Sam thought for sure this was going to be his death.

Then it all just stopped.

In an instant, the dwarves dropped dead on the floor; only to burst into flames the next moment.

An eerie silence fell over the chamber.

Breathing heavily, Sam sat up and stared at the ashes covering the ground. He was relieved to find his father in the same position - surprised, but alive. Sam leaned his back against the wall and watched his father who intently scanned the room for any remaining danger. When he turned to Sam, their eyes met.

"You okay, son?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "You think this was Dean?"

John shrugged. "I don't know how, but he'd be my best bet, yes."

Sam had to smile at the thought. Only his brother could pull something like this off in the nick of time. Groaning, he pulled himself to a standing position. "Can we go home now?"

---SPN---

"Okay, um, I think … it's gotta be this way." Dean said; pointing at the tunnel on the left leading away from the small chamber they were in. They had entered the tunnels about half an hour ago. Dean had no idea if they were going in the right direction. If it weren't for his compass, he wouldn't even know whether they were walking east or west. He wasn't going to give up though.

"No, it's the other one." Matt objected.

"How'd you know?" Dean wanted to know.

"I just do." Matt said quietly.

"Oh yeah? Sorry, dude, but that's not good enough. The hotel should be east from here, so we have to …"

"I can feel it, Dean." Matt interrupted him. "Look, you know I'm different. I … I can't explain it, but … there's something. Your brother …"

"What about him?" Dean asked, glaring suspiciously at the other man.

"I can feel him. There's something special about him." He added with a small smile.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked warily.

"He's a psychic, isn't he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean said irritated, his hand automatically going for his gun.

"Has he been acting strange lately? Since coming into town, I mean? Was he nervous about something? Maybe seeing things that weren't there?"

Dean stayed silent, his anger increasing. He didn't like people knowing too much about his family. Nothing good ever came out of it. Demons knew about Sam. Demons knew things like Matt. Maybe he'd been wrong to trust him.

Matt held up his hands in a placating way. "Look, I've run into other psychics before. They pick up things – from me. I wish I knew how to stop it, but in all these years, I've never been able to prevent this. With Sam … I don't know, it's different somehow, stronger. I didn't notice it at first and then I just tried to ignore it. But now … I think he's the reason I never felt anything."

"Felt anything?" Dean asked with a raised brow. None of this made any sense and at the same time it made him sick to the stomach because deep down he did understand.

Matt hesitated a moment before he continued. "Somehow, I can feel your brother's presence. We're getting closer. That's all I can say."

Dean bit his lip, thinking about what to do. He hated all this supernatural freak stuff concerning his brother, but if it could really lead them to him? It all made sense in a weird, crazy way – and if it was true, it also meant that Sam was still alive. "Fine. But if you're wrong …"

"I'm not. Come on."

---SPN---

Sam leaned heavily on his father as they made their way through the tunnels, Stan and Chris walking right behind them.

Sam was ready to crash. His leg was burning; his body was covered with cuts and bruises. The headache was worse than ever before and the broken ribs were making breathing more and more difficult. The only thing keeping him upright was the knowledge that his father wasn't fairing much better. The dwarves had hit him as much.

"I can't believe no one knew about these tunnels. They're _huge_!" Stan said astonished.

"The dwarves probably used some kind of magic to keep it a secret." John replied dryly.

"Magic?" Stan raised a brow in skepticism.

"I just saw a whole bunch of midgets go up in flames …" Chris smirked. "I think magic isn't that far fetched."

"You're gonna tell Alice about this?" Stan grinned.

"Hell no!"

The two men kept talking, but Sam blocked their conversation out. He kept seeing things; he assumed it would stop now that the dwarves were dead. He had been sure his strange visions were connected to them. Yet, he still saw the bones on the floor, smelled the scent of blood and decay – and at the same time saw no signs that his father noticed any of this. They had walked by several dead people hanging on crosses, just like Ben had and Roberta. None of the others ever saw them.

Sam wanted to feel sorry for all these victims that never had been found, but all he felt was a growing devastation that these visionsor whatever they were just wouldn't go away. With every little thing he saw, his headache was growing to the point where he didn't think he could stand it much longer. The further they walked from the chamber the worse it got.

He pressed his palm against his forehead, willing the pain to go away.

"How you're holding up, Sam?" John asked worried.

His quiet voice sounded like thunder in Sam's ears.

"Sam?"

"Let's just get out of here." Sam said weakly. He wasn't sure, but he thought his words sounded strangely slurred.

His father's grip on him tightened.

"We will."

He saw a pool of blood right in front of them; he wanted to warn his father, but couldn't find the words in time. They walked right through it. Ahead of them, a group of dwarves were dragging a body over the ground; his father never reacted. He saw them vanish around a corner and when they rounded the same corner, it was clear. He thought he'd trip over bones several times, but never did.

He had reached a point where he couldn't tell reality from vision and the pain kept increasing.

John glanced worriedly at his son; Sam was barely walking on his own anymore, staring incoherently ahead. Every now and then he would startle as if seeing something, but there was nothing there, just the darkness. To light the way, they had only the torches they had taken with them from the chamber.

He needed to get his son out of here, let him rest and if necessary, have him checked out by a doctor. John hated hospitals, but something was wrong with Sam and he wasn't sure just rest would take care of it. He would feel better if he knew how much longer they had to walk around in these tunnels – or if they even walked the right way.

"Sam? Dad?"

A wave of relief rushed through John as he heard his oldest son's voice. This was perfect timing, once again.

"Dean!" He called out. He felt Sam straighten up next to him. "Your brother found us." He grinned.

"Dad!"

A moment later, Dean's form appeared out of the darkness.

"I'll be damned." Stan muttered behind them. "I knew the kid was special."

Chris huffed in response.

John saw Dean and another man quickly coming closer; he wanted to call out to his son, but in that moment, Sam cried out and slumped down to the ground. It happened so fast John had no chance to hold him.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam's eyes were torn open and he stared ahead, panic in his expression. He pressed his hands on his head, screaming in pain.

"Sam!"

Dean came running down the tunnel and was at their sides within seconds.

"Sam, what's wrong?" He asked urgently. "Dad, what happened?"

"I don't know, I …" John shook his head, hating how helpless he felt.

Sam kept screaming in pain.

"Oh God, I … I'm sorry." The man who had come with Dean stumbled terrified.

John's head snapped up and he glared at him. The man stared in horror at Sam, his eyes filled with guilt. Fury welled up in John.

"What have you done to him?" He bellowed, jumping up and reaching for his gun. He didn't care that it wasn't loaded. He didn't need bullets to kill someone with it.

"Dad, what …?" Startled, Dean looked up, his hands never leaving his brother.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't think …" Matt stuttered.

Dean's eyes went to Matt and he remembered what he had told him earlier.

"_I've __run__ into other psychics before. They pick up things – from me. I wish I knew how to stop it, but in all these years, I've never__been able to prevent this. With Sam … I don't know, it's different somehow, stronger."_

"What's happening to him?" Dean demanded to know.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I had no idea it would be this bad." Matt looked pleadingly at him. "It never happened this quickly. I … I have to leave."

Before either Dean or John could do anything, Matt turned around and with an almost inhuman speed disappeared into the darkness.

"Dean …" Sam's pain-filled voice immediately brought his family's attention back to him.

"Sammy, don't worry, we …" Dean never finished his sentence as Sam's body suddenly arched up before he finally collapsed into unconsciousness.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N.: Many, many thanks to ****Youngest Ones Rule for her fantastic beta reading. All mistakes are mine. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing! You're words and feedback means the world to me!  


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**Chapter 11**

Impatiently, Dean paced the hospital floor. He'd been here for over an hour now. After leaving the tunnels, they had driven here directly. Upon arrival, the hospital staff had taken Sam away and rushed him into one of the exam rooms. His brother hadn't woken up once since collapsing in his arms.

His father had been taken away a few minutes later – John had argued about it, but not for long. This had showed Dean more than anything how exhausted his father must be. He'd left Dean with the order not to do anything stupid and stay where he was.

Now he was alone – again – with no knowledge about how his family was doing. Sam had looked awful. He had lay pale and limp in Dean's arms until his father had urged him to get up and going. Together they had carried Sam out; Dean had hardly been aware of the two other men, Stan and Chris, following behind. Under any other circumstances, he'd been relieved to find them alive – with Sam unconscious he couldn't have cared less.

What he had noticed though was the sudden disappearance of Matt. His muttered words had not made any sense and yet would explain everything.

Matt was some kind of supernatural freak and he affected psychics. Sam was a psychic. Matt had done something to him, not voluntarily, maybe, but he was responsible for what had happened to his brother.

Matt had claimed he didn't know how strong this effect was and Dean was inclined to believe him. He had seemed … trustworthy… sincere.

Dean punched his fist against the wall, cursing himself. How could he have trusted that freak? He was nothing like Sam. He should have been more careful, should have prevented Matt from coming too close to his brother.

Now Sam was in a hospital, unconscious … and Matt was responsible.

A sudden clarity came over Dean. If Matt had done this, he simply needed to undo it and Sam would be alright again.

Dean knew what he had to do. He'd find Matt and he would save Sam, like he always did.

---SPN---

The Impala sped through the streets, breaking every speed limit. Dean looked intently for any sign of Matt or his motorcycle. He almost gave up hope, deep down convinced the man had already fled town, when he spotted the bike standing in front of a church; Matt leaning casually against it.

Dean hit the breaks and the Impala came to a sudden stop. He jumped out of the car, his hand immediately going for his gun. With a few quick strides he had reached Matt; grabbing him at his collar he pulled him away from the bike and slammed him against the church wall.

"What have you done to my brother?" He yelled, holding his gun under Matt's chin.

The man didn't flinch.

"You really think I escaped all these hunters if something like this could harm me?" Matt said calmly, motioning for Dean's gun.

"What have you done to Sam?" Dean asked again through clenched teeth.

"Nothing, Dean, I did nothing."

"Sam's in a hospital."

"I couldn't have stopped it." Matt sighed. "I'm sorry."

"But you're responsible."

Matt hesitated a moment before he replied. "Yes."

"So you can undo it."

Matt scoffed. "Undo it?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and pushed his gun closer into Matt's skin.

Anger flashed in Matt's eyes. "I can't undo anything! You want to help Sam? Let me go. That's all I have to offer."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, right. And Santa'll come visit next Christmas."

Matt sighed and took a deep breath. "Sam is one of the strongest psychics I've ever met. There was just one, a woman, years ago … she was like him. And she picked up what I saw just like Sam did."

"What happened with her?" Dean asked, his mouth dry.

"She's dead."

Dean's stomach dropped.

"I tried to help her." Matt went on. "At first I thought she was like me. I thought if I gave her enough time, she'd learn to handle the visions. I did." A shadow crossed his face. "It got only worse though. The more she suffered, the less I saw. Eventually I realized that she was picking up my visions and it was killing her. I tried everything, but nothing helped. It got so bad; she couldn't be in the same room as I was. One day she collapsed and never woke up again."

Dean swallowed. "That's not gonna happen to Sam."

"I agree. That's why you have to let me go."

Dean shook his head. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Think about it, Dean. It's me staying too close that killed that woman. Sam collapsed because I came too close. He's seeing what I'm supposed to see. As long as I'm here, he won't get any better."

"What do you see?" Dean asked warily.

"Death. It's everywhere." He pointed at a spot across the street. "When I came into town, I saw a woman getting shot over there. Down the street, a kid got hit by a car. When this church was build, one worker killed another with a hammer. On the market place, they hanged several criminals. I saw all that and now … nothing. Because of Sam."

"How do you know it's gonna stop when you leave?"

"I don't." Matt shrugged. "But it's all I have to offer."

"I could kill you."

Matt smiled sadly. "No, you can't."

Dean closed his eyes, growled, and dropped the gun. "I can't lose him."

"Let me go."

Dean bit his lip, desperation spreading through his body in waves. He couldn't just let him go. If it didn't work – how was he supposed to find him again? Would there even be time to look for him? If he was wrong …

"Dean." Matt said quietly, pulling him out of his thoughts. His voice was filled with sadness.

Dean looked up at him; he nodded slowly and took a step back. He prayed he was doing the right thing.

Matt inhaled deeply and went to his bike. "I hope Sam will be all right. I really do." He said quietly; then climbed onto his bike.

"Hey, one more question?" Dean held him back before he could start the bike.

"Go ahead."

"Why are you still here? You must have known I'd come after you."

Another sad smile flashed over Matt's face. "I'm tired of running. It was easier this way." He paused for a moment. "I owed you an explanation. Someone needed to know."

They shared a look, then Matt started the engine and drove off. Dean watched until he disappeared around a corner, a feeling of dread spreading through his stomach.

---SPN---

John knew he shouldn't have been surprised not to find Dean in the waiting area. He had hoped the need to stay close to his brother would keep him here, but deep down he had known Dean wouldn't be able to just sit around.

On any other day, he'd be furious with Dean's disappearance, but today he was simply too exhausted. So instead of rushing after his son to teach him a lesson, he sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting area. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, waiting for Dean to return or Sam's doctor to give him an update.

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, Dean was sitting next to him, looking close to going stir crazy.

With a sigh, John sat up. "You're back."

"Any news on Sam?" Dean asked instead of replying.

John shook his head. "Not yet." He glanced at his watch, surprised to find that over two hours had passed since he'd come to find his oldest gone. His worry increased. "I'll try to find a nurse."

He groaned when he tried to get up. His battered body protested the movement.

"Keep to your seat, old man. I'll go." Dean pushed his father back on the chair.

John raised a brow. "Who you calling old?"

"Mr. McNab?"

Both heads snapped around to the man who had called – McNab was the alias they had given at their arrival.

"Yes." They said in unison, jumping up from their seats.

"I'm Dr. Larkin, I've been treating your son." The doctor introduced himself.

"How is he?" John asked, beating Dean by a millisecond.

"Why don't we sit down?" Dr. Larkin motioned to the chairs.

John's chest constricted.

"Just spit it out, Doc." Dean demanded impatiently.

Dr. Larkin nodded, a solemn expression on his face. "Sam has several cuts and bruises, as was expected with what happened. He has two broken ribs, they should heal without problems. There are no internal bleedings, which is good. He's developed a slight fever; we've administered antibiotics and I expect his temperature to drop soon."

"So he'll be okay?" Dean asked anxiously.

John stayed quiet. He knew the doctor wasn't finished yet and his still solemn expression told him as much.

"Sam still hasn't woken up." Dr. Larkin continued. "I … haven't been able to discover the cause for this. There is no head injury, nothing that would explain his continuing unconsciousness."

"What does this mean?" John asked warily.

"Your son is in a coma, Mr. Winchester. At the moment, I can't say when … or if he'll wake up."

"He'll wake up." Dean cut in determinedly.

"Of course he will." John said quietly. "Can we see him?"

"He's in room 106, down the hall on the left." Dr. Larkin said.

"Thank you." He turned to Dean. "Let's wake your lazy brother up."

---SPN---

Dean sat at his brother's bedside, taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest. Sam looked like he was simply sleeping. He had dark rings under his eyes, and his cheeks were slightly flushed from the fever, but nothing that would indicate anything life threatening. Sam looked a lot like the early days after Jessica died, haunted, even in sleep, but alive and well.

He didn't look like someone who was in a coma.

He forced his glance away from his brother and looked intently at his father. He looked like he was ready to collapse. Dean could see that every movement caused him pain and he was way passed exhaustion.

"Go get some sleep, Dad. I'll watch over him." He said quietly.

John gave him a sad smile. "That's not your job, Dean.

Dean shrugged. "That's not what you said 22 years ago."

Guilt flashed through John's eyes. He didn't reply and they fell into silence again.

The quiet, only disturbed by the beeping of the machine monitoring Sam's heartbeat, graded on Dean's nerves. He wished he could think of anything to talk about with his Dad. He had already filled him in about Matt. His Dad had told him everything about what happened after the hotel had collapsed and they had discussed what to do with Caleb. He was on the verge of a new hunt, so they had postponed the conversation about the demon killing knife to the near future – with everything that had happened and Sam still not waking up, finding that knife suddenly didn't seem so important anymore. There was always time later.

Dean still had a million questions left, about what his father had been doing the last year, where he'd been, why he'd just left without even leaving a note, but knew he wouldn't get an answer. So he didn't bother asking.

"He'll be all right." John suddenly said.

Dean looked at him surprised. His father usually saw the glass half empty; it wasn't like him to give pep talks like this.

"He'll be all right." John repeated, almost inaudible.

"How do you know?" Dean asked. It was meant to sound angry, instead it came out more as a plea. He hated sounding like a little boy, but he could really use some reassurance right now.

"I already lost him once. It won't happen again."

Dean swallowed. He didn't know how to reply to that.

John cleared his throat and fidgeted on his chair. "I could use some coffee."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, I don't really wanna go there now either." Sam leaving for Stanford and all three of them breaking contact in the aftermath was still a subject neither of them wanted to talk about. Sam might want to, because if his brother loved anything, it was talking about all the things Dean liked to ignore.

God, Dean would give anything to talk about these things with Sam now.

"I _really_ could use some coffee." John looked at Dean pointedly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get some."

Dean glanced at his watch as he left the room. It had been almost ten hours since Matt had left town. Shouldn't Sam have woken up by now? Or at least showed some sign of recovery? Yet nothing had changed since Dean had come back.

As he walked down the corridor, he thought it might have been a mistake to let Matt go. This crazy story of his – Dean couldn't believe he had just bought it. Sure, Matt had sounded convincing, but these supernatural things had a tendency to lure people in. They tell lies to survive. It was one of the first rules he'd learned.

And yet, Dean couldn't help _but_ believe him. He couldn't imagine that the man had lied to him, supernatural freak or not. One part of him wanted to go after him, but he didn't really think it would change anything. Plus, he wouldn't even know where to start looking.

He just had to keep hoping that Sam would wake up. That he'd made the right choice.

---SPN---

With Dean gone, John thought it was safe to lean forward and take Sam's hand in his own. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't let his guard down in front of his sons. Not anymore. It had been easier when they were younger, but now … The damage was done.

Dean was not here though and he was alone with a sleeping Sam. It was okay.

Squeezing his son's hand, John spoke in a whispered voice. "You did good, Sammy. Real good. I'm proud of you." A small smile played on his lips. "I always thought Stanford might weaken you. It didn't. You're one hell of a fighter, Sammy. Don't stop fighting now." He gently wiped a loose strand of hair off of his son's face. "Don't worry about the visions. I know what to do. I won't … I won't let anything happen to you. Ever. I know you're afraid." He swallowed, a wave of pain threatening to crush his heart. "I won't let that bastard get to you. I… We'll stop it. I won't let him have you."

John wanted to say so much more, but a twitch in his hand made it all unimportant. "Sam?"

He held his breath until he saw his son's eyes slowly open. A wave of relief rushed through him. "Hey son."

Unfocused eyes met his and John couldn't help but smile happily.

"Dad?"

It was the most beautiful sound he'd heard in a long time.

---SPN---

"Would you stop it, Dean? I'm fine." Sam groaned as he pushed the door open to the hotel room he shared with his brother and father. He was defending a bag of fast food from his brother who was trying to grab it from him.

"The Doc said you shouldn't carry anything heavy." Dean objected.

"That was over two weeks ago. And I wouldn't exactly call this heavy." Sam pointed out.

The room's walls and table were covered with maps, newspaper articles and books, Sam's laptop lay unused next to the Colt, on top of several papers.

It hadn't taken long for the Winchesters to make themselves comfortable.

"I'm just saying take it easy. There's no need to …"

"Boys."

Their father's stern voice immediately caught both brothers' attention.

"What is it, Dad?" Dean asked, already on alert.

"It's happening again."

Neither Sam nor Dean had to ask what he meant. They had talked about nothing else for the last few days; the signs - fires, cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms – telling them exactly where they were going to find the demon. They just needed to wait for them to flare up again.

"Where?" Sam asked in a hoarse voice.

"Salvation, Iowa." John replied gloomily.

All three shared a look; all thinking the same.

"Let's go then." Dean said. "It's time to end this."

The end.


End file.
